A Hawk Spinning
by nikonic
Summary: Sequel to A Widow Nesting in which Avengers Tower attempts to survive four teenagers and a team of superheroes living under one roof. Oh, the chaos that ensues.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Wow. Just wow. You all are amazing. Because I had so many reviews asking for a sequel, I got started immediately. Also shout-out to an anonymous reviewer for an idea incorporated towards the end of this chapter. As always, please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing, though I'm super excited Joss Whedon signed on for Avengers 2 (Summer 2015).

"Do you understand the level of torture, Barton? Stop laughing at me you asshole," Stark grumbled loudly. He dropped his head repeatedly to the marble counter in front of him. "Dear God, how can three girls spend that much time in a mall? It's actually painful."

"It's your stupid fault," Barton smirked. "You're the dumbass who offered to take them."

"Never again, Robin Hood. Never again."

"You're such a drama queen." He signaled the bartender, who quickly poured more Jack Daniels into his tumbler. "Thanks." The archer murmured his appreciation. "Stop looking at me like I just blew up your new car. Yes, I called you a drama queen. Get over it. You took a thirteen-year-old and two eleven-year-old girls to a mall for an afternoon. You've saved the planet numerous times. You can't honestly tell me that you're tortured by a day spent shopping with your daughters and niece."

"Do you know how many stores there are in that mall? We went in every single damn one of them. There's constant giggling. I nearly burst a gasket when I figured out they were giggling and ranking boys. Boys, Barton. It's already starting! I think Amelia even got a phone number from some pathetic kid, though it looked like she already knew him."

"You let Amelia accept a phone number? What kind of uncle are you? You're supposed to terminate the threat!"

"You're such a drama queen." Stark mocked, throwing Barton's previous words back in his face. "He's a thirteen year old kid, not an international situation." When Stark was met with Barton's quirked eyebrow, he conceded. "Okay, our girls dating anyone might be worse than an international incident. Oh, and then there's the constant debate about how clothing is just too damn short!"

"That I'm definitely familiar with," Barton commiserated. "Definitely familiar. Amelia wanted to buy a bikini the other day, and I swear the scrap of material couldn't be defined as any legitimate piece of clothing."

"The skirts are the worst. Abby wanted this jean skirt. It's about as long as my pinkie finger, which is not okay. Maybe we should become Mormon or Quaker and just wrap them in yards of fabric. No skin showing ever," Stark declared.

"The older Amelia gets, the more and more I like that idea."

"Oh, and then Sophie wanted a completely backless dress. Barton, a hand towel has more fabric than that dress. Absolutely ridiculous," he shook his head. "Can't we rewind to when they were babies and we had complete control over their wardrobe?"

"God, wouldn't that be nice?"

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"Someone in this house needs to teach me to drive," Philip shouted as he stomped around the common floor. "I should be able to get my learner's permit, but no, heaven forbid, any of the capable adults in this family teach me to drive."

"You live in the heart of New York City. You don't need to learn how to drive." Banner pointed out to the teenager over his coffee.

"That's not the point. The point is that I'm finally old enough to have a learner's permit and no one will teach me."

"Sorry, son. Your mother would maim me if I taught you to drive without her explicit permission." Rogers informed the teenage boy over his newspaper.

"You're a super soldier. She's human. It's genetically impossible for her to maim you in any lasting way!" Philip crossed his arms over his chest and resisted the urge to stomp his feet like a petulant child.

"Your mother is terrifying. Super soldier serum or not, that woman could find a way to hurt me. She has a penchant for throwing cutlery at my face. I like my face to remain whole without any protruding forks or knives." Rogers folded his newspaper in front of him as he looked at his nephew, who looked remarkably like his father.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Uncle Bruce will you please teach me? Hulk protects you from my mom."

"Ha," the doctor snorted. "I am not protected in any means from your mother's wrath. It's far-reaching and painful."

"But you're indestructible," Philip groaned. "Damnit, someone needs to teach me to drive. I mean… I didn't say that out loud." Rogers lifted his eyebrows at the cussword that slipped from his nephew's lips. "Yeah, I didn't say that out loud. I'm going to the gym."

"Smart move, kid."

"I just don't understand. You all save the world on a regular basis, and no one can teach me how to drive. It doesn't make any sense," he muttered as he stalked to the elevator.

"You live in a family of superheroes and secret agents. Nothing has ever made any sense." Banner called after him with a smirk.

"He makes a good point though." Rogers noted when the elevator doors closed. "What could Romanov do to you? I mean you can Hulk out."

"Trust me, Cap. I never plan to get into any situation that would cause us to find out the answer to that question. It's not healthy to underestimate her powers. I'm sure she could figure out something creative and endlessly painful. I'd rather not."

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"Get out of my room," Philip shouted as the twins bounced on his bed. "Go bug Amelia. She's got to be here somewhere. Plus, she has all sorts of girly stuff in her room that you can screw with."

"Oh come on," Abby pouted. "You're no fun."

"True. I'm not. I have homework to do. Get out."

"Why do you have your panties in a twist," Sophie asked.

"I don't have panties. Guys don't wear panties."

"Then what do they wear," Abby wondered.

"I am so not having this conversation with either of you. GET OUT."

"If you can tell us apart, we'll leave."

"That's not a fair game! No one can tell you apart. That's ridiculous. Can't you just leave me alone?" Philip begged as he turned his desk chair to stare at his cousins. "Out!"

"Nope, who's who? Then we'll leave."

"Isn't there someone else, anyone else, you can go annoy?" He scrubbed a hand over his face. They shook their heads in perfect synchronization. "Of course not. Fine, I'm going to go shooting. Looks like you're out of luck since you aren't allowed in the range yet."

"You're not allowed to do anything until your homework is done. Red's rule," Sophie smirked. Philip resisted the urge to scream, opting for a loud, irritated groan instead.

"I think Amelia just got a new Justin Bieber thing. You should go see if you can find it in her room." He said, grasping at straws trying to get them out of his room. Of course, the eleven-year-olds excitedly left to find the latest something related to the overly feminine pop star. Philip immediately clicked the manual lock into place. He leaned against the closed door and let out a sigh of relief.

He smirked when Amelia came and started pounding on his door. "You sent them into my room. What in the world? Why? God, you are so frustrating! Open this stupid door! Philip!"

"Sorry, I'm not in right now. Please leave a message, and I'll get back to you shortly." He called mockingly through the door.

"Philip!"

"Not my problem now. Have fun, 'Melia!"

She shouted loudly and kicked the base of his door. "You suck!"

"Maybe, but I still won." He laughed as he heard his sister stomp back down the hallway.

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"Mom," Amelia called as she walked through the suite. "Oh hey, Aunt Pepper!"

"Hi, sweetie! Good day?" The tall, strawberry blonde woman asked.

"Yeah, it was fine. Yours?"

"Not too bad. Did you learn anything fun at school?"

"Sort of. Where's Mom?"

"I'm in here," Natasha called from the kitchen.

"Where's Dad?"

"Range," Natasha responded. She appeared holding out a wine glass for Pepper. "What's up?"

"There's a dance at school, and I want to go." Amelia informed the two women quickly. She twisted her hands as she looked steadily at the hardwood floor.

"And," Natasha prompted.

"There's a boy, who asked me to the dance. I want to go, but I don't want Dad to, I don't know, accidentally shoot him with an arrow."

"He's not going to shoot anyone," Pepper soothed. She took a large gulp from her glass of wine and grimaced slightly at Natasha, who quelled a smirk.

"Tell me about the boy." Natasha requested, patting the cushion next to her. Amelia sighed softly before dropping down onto the couch.

"Do I have to?"

"Do you want to go to the dance?" Amelia nodded. "Then yes, tell me about the boy."

"I promise, he isn't an international threat or anything. He's just a boy in my class."

"You're right. I doubt a thirteen-year-old boy is an international threat," Natasha agreed.

"Weren't you an international threat at thirteen," Pepper asked.

"Possibly," the ex-agent agreed. "But that's besides the point. Amelia, does the boy have a name?"

"You're going to run a background check on him," the teenage girl accused.

"It's not me you need to worry about."

"Fine. His name is Blake. He's in my science and math classes. He plays baseball and soccer on the school team."

"How were you planning to get to the dance with the boy?"

"I figured I wouldn't have a choice, and Dad would drive us. Blake said his mom could pick me up and drop me off though." Amelia added hopefully.

"When is it?"

"Saturday," she murmured.

"As in two days from today?"

"So was he dragging his feet to ask you or were you dragging your feet to ask me?" Natasha wisely asked as she looked at her daughter. The teenager looked like a miniature version of the agent. Amelia was small and thin. Her bright red curls popped against her pale skins. Her green eyes were striking. Despite the inquisition about her date and dance, she looked relaxed in straight-legged jeans, worn traditional converses, and a t-shirt.

"I didn't want to ask when Dad was around."

"Smart kid," Pepper giggled into her wine.

"So can I go?"

"Ask Blake if he wants to come over for dinner before the dance."

"Umm, with everyone here," Amelia stuttered. "I mean Dad and Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve and Uncle Bruce… all here to meet him? All of them? Against him? Oh, this isn't going to go well."

"Uncle Bruce should be in Cambodia. Uncle Steve is going to Brooklyn for the weekend. Pepper can keep Uncle Tony leashed, and I can handle your father."

"Thor will be in Asgard?" She asked, clearly trying to make sure there was going to be a rogue uncle trying to protect her from a gangly thirteen-year-old boy.

"He's with Jane in Tahiti," Pepper responded.

"Tahiti," Natasha asked with a laugh. "Thor is in Tahiti? A cape doesn't seem like it would blend in well with the swimsuits."

"We sent him with a bottle of sunscreen. According to Jane's last correspondence, he's using it to protect his hammer." Pepper laughed wholeheartedly at the mental image of the demi-god lathering up his beloved weapon. Natasha smirked as well. "So no, to answer your question, he won't be here either. Even if he was," Pepper added. "Your mother can pretty much terrify anyone into submission. She's got a handle on the boys."

"Speaking of the Avengers," Amelia groaned. "I may have told Blake that you're a linguistic specialist and that Dad is an archery instructor." Natasha raised her eyebrows in a clearly unspoken question. "What," Amelia asked. "I can't very well tell him that my parents are superheroes or government agents or assassins or whatever."

"You don't think it's going to be just a little obvious when he pulls up to Avengers Tower." Natasha pointed out with a continued smirk as she sipped her red wine slowly. Amelia slapped a hand to her forehead before dragging it over her face with a moan of frustration.

"I didn't think of that," she admitted.

"This really should be fun. So family dinner on Saturday," Pepper clarified with a mocking smile.

"I suggest you figure out a way to alter your previous statement about our careers in the next 48 hours. I'll talk to your father about not maiming your date."

"Thanks, Mom." Amelia grumbled as she slipped off the sofa to return to her room. "See you later, Aunt Pepper."

"Love you, sweetie." Pepper called after the peevish child. "Is this the first time she's had a date?" Natasha nodded. "Oh, this is going to be too good. Ten bucks says Banner and Rogers casually change their plans."

"Ten bucks says we have to lock down all weaponry in the building before that poor boy steps foot on the doorstep." Natasha countered.

"We'll definitely need to do that. I'll make plans to set the table for eleven."

"Philip might conveniently spend the whole weekend at Murphy's."

"Ah, yes, my dear sulking fifteen-year-old nephew, how is he doing?" Pepper asked as she retrieved the bottle to refill their glasses.

"As sulking and brooding as ever," Natasha grumbled.

"He may look like Clint, but that boy has your personality. Come to think of it. Both of them have your personality with a sprinkle of Clint's sense of humor and charm."

"I do not sulk and brood." Natasha returned as she pretended to look offended.

"You watch quietly, observing and calculating." Pepper corrected as she raised her glass in a silent toast. She smiled as the agent nodded her consent. "But really," she continued. "We really need to remember to put all the weapons on lockdown for Saturday night. Can't you just see Tony 'accidentally' testing out the latest laser add-on for his suit and using Blake as target practice?"

"Sadly, it's something that is likely to happen eventually given the rampant over protectiveness. Just like it's quite plausible that Clint will accidentally loose an arrow with a stun-gun tip at the kid when he shows up."

"We should probably have the lawyers and medics on call just in case our weapons lockdown malfunctions and the kid gets injured." Pepper mused somewhat seriously as she continued to savor her wine. Natasha couldn't help but agree.

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"Get in the car. Get in the car. Get in the car. Get in the car." Tony chanted as he stood at the door of the twins' room. "You're late for school. Again," he groaned.

"We're coming. We're coming. Hold on. I'm still putting on make up, and Sophie is trying to decide what to wear!" Abby shouted back from the bathroom.

"Decide what to wear," Tony growled. "You go to a private school. You wear a uniform. You shouldn't have to decide what to wear. There is one skirt, and there is one style of polo shirt. All you have to do is put on the uniform and get in the car. And Abby, for the love of God, what do you mean make up? You're eleven! You don't wear make up! You wear Chap Stick and sunscreen. Get in the car!"

"Jeez, we're coming. Don't get your panties in a twist," Sophie called.

"Who taught you that phrase? Because that person is about to be at the business end of one of my lasers. Can you please get in the car?"

"Abby, should I wear my navy blue knee socks or the white ones?"

"Is this seriously a question? Put on the socks; grab the shoes. Get your Eggo waffles, and get in the car!" Tony bellowed as his face turned a delightful shade of red.

"Okay, okay. Soph, I say white. I'm wearing blue." Abby decided as she grabbed her backpack from the floor by her desk and walked out of the room. "I got your bag," she told her sister. "Waffles," she asked.

"In the toaster," Tony answered as he practically sighed in relief that at least one of his children was ready to go. "Sophie, put your shoes on in the car. Assembly starts in twenty minutes and we're at least twenty five minutes away from school with traffic."

"You could let us walk. It would only take ten to walk," Sophie pointed out as she slid past her father into the hallway. She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Morning, Daddy."

"Hi, kiddo. And no, you will not walk to school because you're eleven and you both give me enough anxiety without me having to worry about you walking to school alone."

"Just saying," she pointed out. "Then we wouldn't be late. Abby, want a Sunny D?"

"Yeah," her sister responded. "I got your waffles."

"OK." Sophie skipped into the kitchen as she grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator. She slipped into the backpack Abby held out for her before trading a bottle for her two waffles. "Now we're ready, Daddy."

"Thank God. In the car, in the car." He swooshed behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders, as he steered them towards the elevator and down to the garage. "One of these days, we will be on time."

"When Mommy takes us to school, we're on time." Abigail smirked up at him.

"Ummhmm, well Mommy might as well be superwoman with the amount of stuff she manages to accomplish in 24 hours," he countered. "Eat your waffle. Actually," he paused as he snatched at one of the breakfast pastries in Abigail's hand.

"Hey," she cried. "Leggo my Eggo!"

"Hmm, I make good waffles," Tony laughed as he commended himself and returned her waffle, though it was missing a large bite.

"You just put in the toaster," Sophie countered. "You don't actually cook."

"I can cook," he returned.

"Mhmm," Abby hummed.

"Yeah, you can cook." Sophie conceded with a smile. "You're really good at pushing the numbers on the microwave."

"Yeah, yeah. Get in the car." He grumbled as he guided them out of the elevator and into the waiting vehicle.

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"We've got a situation." Fury announced as his hologram flickered to life in the Avengers Tower conference room.

"Okay, where are the Avengers headed this time?"

"Barton, it might not be a job for the Avengers."

"Alright," the archer drawled slowly. "What's the situation?"

"There's a situation at Lincoln." Fury's hologram wavered.

"Lincoln," Barton asked for clarification.

"As in Lincoln Prep?" Natasha questioned.

"Yes," Fury nodded gravely.

"That's where the kids go," Banner noted.

"Yes," Fury confirmed.

"Spit it out. What's the situation," Tony demanded agitatedly.

"It seems that Doom decided to attack the school. There are no reports of deaths and only slight injuries. It seems that Doom took a fairly nonviolent method and filled the school with a gas of some sort that rendered those inside unconscious but uninjured."

"Philip and Amelia," Barton inquired.

"Not in the building."

"Why are we just now hearing about this?" Rogers clenched his fists as Barton resisted the urge to try and strangle the hologram. Natasha rested a steady hand against the archer's thigh.

"Doom placed a demand. He wants the Black Widow to comply some information from a target for him. Once the information is delivered, the children will be returned. According to his voicemail ransom note, he won't hurt them as long as he gets his information in the next three days."

"Who is the target?" Natasha asked. "Where do I deliver the information once I have it?"

"We do not negotiate with international criminals, Agent Romanov."

"They're our children, Director." Barton stated. "I don't care if he wants the goddamn sun. Collecting information is a simple mission that we've successfully completed countless times before. Give us what we need to know, or at least give us Doom's recording."

"It's not that simple. You can't just walk into his lair and hand over whatever information he requested, Agent Barton. It's SHIELD policy not to negotiate with international criminals." Fury reminded them. Barton growled, rhythmically clenching his fists and his jaw to relieve some of the anxiety and tension. "We want to send in a team."

"Fine. We will be on that team, Director." Natasha stated. There wasn't any room for argument in her tone. She was going to get her children back safe and sound one way or another regardless of SHIELD protocol.

"No, Agent Romanov. In this situation, the entire Avengers team is compromised. You cannot just attack Doom guns blazing."

"Like hell, we're compromised. They're our children. You can't stop us from going after them." Barton announced as he slammed his palms onto the table.

"If you don't want Widow to get the information and hand it over to Doom in exchange for Philip and Amelia and you don't want us to go get them, how do you expect us to get them back, Director?" Rogers posed the question in the most respectful way he could, though it was clear from his clipped tone that he was about a minute and a half away from saying fuck it and going to find his niece and nephew with or without a SHIELD-approved order.

"We would rather not cause an international incident," Fury stated.

"Doom kidnapped two teenagers from a private school in the New York area. He's practically begging for an international incident," Banner insisted.

"SHIELD wanted to update you on the status of your children's whereabouts. We will keep you updated as a team is compiled to extract them from Doom's unidentified location." Fury dictated as he ended the conversation and his hologram fizzled out of sight. Barton slammed his fists against the table again.

"Like hell, I'm going to sit here and do nothing. Stark, please tell me you have something," Barton begged.

"Working on it," the genius muttered as he flicked different pieces of information around the holographic screen. "Okay, first of all, DoomBots took them from the school at approximately 10:15 this morning."

"Son of a bitch," Natasha swore. "He waited four hours to tell us about this." She seethed as she contemplated the ways she could poke out the Director's other eye.

Tony continued. "Following the aircraft, it flew northwest. I would say Doom has a hideout somewhere in Canada."

"Ping the phones," Natasha stated.

"School doesn't allow them to carry the phones during the day. They have to remain in the lockers, remember?" Barton reminded her.

"You think Amelia, our technology-addicted thirteen-year-old, is going to relinquish her cell phone because a school official told her to? No that phone is on her person somewhere. I'm betting in the band of her knee socks or the shorts she wears under her skirt. Stark, ping the phone."

"Alright," he paused. His fingers adjusting images on the screen until he located two signals. "Okay, we've got Philip's phone still at the school. Amelia's phone, however, is picking up somewhere near Lake Nipigon in Windigo Bay Provincial Park. Let me pull up satellite images of the coordinates. JARVIS, hack into SHIELD. We need that recording left by Doom dated today in the last four hours."

Tony enlarged the images and sent them to the projector. Rogers tilted his head sideways as he analyzed the area surrounding the hideout. "It seems too simple," he noted. "Doom isn't stupid. It surprises me that he wouldn't check them for GPS. Are we sure it isn't a trap to get the two of you into one location?"

"He wants to use me to get information. I'll walk in the front door," Natasha decided. "If it's a trap, the four of you act as back up. If Doom wants information that badly, I'm going to need to talk to him about the target and the questions he wants answered. I doubt he gave enough information to SHIELD to be helpful. If it turns out he doesn't want information at all, I'm sure I can convince him that I would be of some beneficial use alive as opposed to dead. That should give you enough time to use the heat sensors in your suit to locate Philip and Amelia and get them the hell out of there."

"And then how do we get you out," Rogers asked.

"I'll figure it out," she murmured as she analyzed the layout.

"You'll figure it out," Barton parroted. "You'll figure it out. You're going to walk up to the front door of a crazy man's hideout like you're what? Showing up for tea? And then you're just going to wing it? Fuck that, Natasha. We need a better evacuation plan than that."

"We've succeeded with worse plans before," she reminded him grimly.

"I don't care. This is different."

"It is different," Natasha agreed. "Because that narcissistic asshole has our children. Your job is to get them out. My job is to distract him long enough not to call the DoomBots on them. Got it," she growled. Clearly, given her tone, it wasn't up for discussion. Rogers looked skeptical. Stark was engrossed in identifying all the information he could about the hideout and its layout.

"I don't like this," the archer grumbled. "I really don't like this." Everyone seemed to agree. Natasha slipped silently into her Black Widow façade and left to suit up. The others took her cue.

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When she said she was going to walk up to the front door, she hadn't thought it would be an actual door. The comm in her ear buzzed to life as she looked at the doorbell. Natasha was definitely surprised, though her face definitely didn't show it.

"Is that a fucking doorbell," Stark asked, his voice clear through the comm link. "What the hell is his play?"

"I have visual," Barton announced from his perch high in a nearby tree.

Natasha mentally crossed her fingers for luck and rang the doorbell.

"Ah, Natasha Romanov, so glad of you to join me. Your team isn't going to join us?" Doom answered the door, sounding rather smug. He opened the door wide and let her into the odd building. It looked like an old factory had been gutted and turned into something that resembled a bachelor pad. It was a strange environment to say the least. "I've been having a conversation with your children." He continued as he ushered her into a large open space. "They're quite intelligent." She imperceptibly bristled as his comment.

Well that put a dent in the plan, she thought to herself. She didn't expect Doom to be keeping a personal eye on Philip and Amelia. She noted grimly that the far wall was lined with DoomBots and a few burly guards sat in a sparse kitchen. "They are," she agreed.

"Mom!" Philip shouted, clearly relieved to see her. His wrists were duck taped in his lap.

"Mommy!" Amelia called simultaneously. She sat next to Philip in a similar position.

"I'm a little disappointed you're by yourself," Doom noted. "I expected more of a small army. I upgraded the DoomBots for the occasion."

"The occasion," Natasha asked, her tone not giving anything away.

"I was under the impression, from past experience, that SHIELD doesn't negotiate with criminals."

"I'm not here with SHIELD."

"You're freelancing now then?" He asked. "Can I get you some tea?" She shook her head, declining politely. "First, Red Room, then a KGB operative before defecting to become a SHIELD agent." He listed her résumé. "The Black Widow," Doom stated. "My dear, you go through code names like some women go through handbags it seems. Though I've managed to track a few of them throughout your career." He seemed quite proud of himself.

"I have made a name for myself," she agreed. "I was bred to have a certain skill set. I'm sure you're obviously aware, which leads me to my question. Why am I here?"

"I need you to obtain information for me. You bring me the information. Your kids return to their posh little private school in Manhattan completely unharmed."

"Okay," Natasha accepted easily.

"Okay," he asked. He seemed a little stunned that the woman consented so readily. "Just like that? Well that takes the fun out of it. I had a spiel planned."

"And I'm sure it would have been a delightful speech, but really, I have no problem obtaining information for you. Just tell me what questions you need answered and by whom."

"SHIELD is still manufacturing weapons utilizing harnessed energy. I want to know what the status is on the creation of said weapons. I want the plans for their continued production as well as the scientific specifics behind their power."

"You want me to get you state secrets about weapons from Director Fury," Natasha clarified.

Her comm was busy with activity.

"Well this just went from bad to worse," Banner commented dryly.

"I don't have a shot. Repeat, I do not have a shot," Barton called.

"Okay, here's the play." Rogers announced. "Romanov, use the Widow Bite to incapacitate Doom. Get Philip and Amelia to a safe corner. Stark, focus on the DoomBots. I'll deal with the guards. Barton, find a way in; once you do, help with the bots. He said they're upgraded; watch out for whatever that means. Banner, unless it turns ugly, stay here." Everyone hummed their consent.

"That is correct," Doom nodded. "Are you sure I can't offer you a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you. Though if you get me a computer, I can get you the information you need in the next ten minutes."

"You're really as good as they say you are." He seemed impressed.

"The Red Room knows how to create master spies. Actually," she pretended to ponder. "Let me see if I can get you the appropriate information through my phone. My login is still active." She explained as she pretended to reach on her belt for a phone. Rogers called the signal, and she immediately sent a Widow Bite in Doom's direction. He was down for the count in seconds. Just as quickly she pulled a knife from a sheath in her belt and cut the duck tape binding the wrists of her children. "Take this. Only use if you absolutely have to." She pulled a gun from one of the holsters and thrust it into Philip's hand. "Go over there, and stay there." She pushed them in the direction of the door.

When the Widow Bite incapacitated Doom, Rogers burst through the door and immediately started fighting the guards who rushed to help their fallen leader. The DoomBots activated almost as quickly. Stark burst through one of the skylights and landed in such a way that positioned himself between the robots and his niece and nephew. Barton followed Rogers moments later. His bow already notched with an arrow. He picked off bot after bot. Natasha shot steadily at the robots as well.

Rogers corralled the incapacitated guards with Doom in an opposite corner before turning to help with the DoomBots. He watched as a robot that had just been pierced with one of Barton's arrows fell to the ground in a clatter of metal. When its eyes started flashing, Rogers tipped his head in curiosity. It took him all of about three seconds to put it together.

"They're set to blow once you take them down!" Rogers shouted frantically above the noise. "Once it's clear, light them up!" He took a rectangular kitchen table and tipped it on it side, pushing it towards Barton in a smooth move. Stark put his power into his thrusters and lifted out of the building as Rogers grabbed Natasha's upper arm and pulled her into a crouch behind his shield.

As soon as he caught the table, Barton pulled Philip and Amelia down behind it. "Stay down," he instructed. He popped his head up quickly, his fingers typing a quick code to include the exploding arrowhead. He watched as Stark jetted from the building, and the moment Natasha and Rogers were safely crouched behind the indestructible shield, he loosed the arrow towards the clump of DoomBots before ducking back down to cover his children with his body.

The explosion rocked the building. The back wall was on fire, and the DoomBots all seemed to be unresponsive. Barton looked at his children and sighed in relief. "You okay," he asked briefly. Philip and Amelia, both looking a little weary, nodded. "Let's go. Jet's outside."

Rogers uncoiled himself from behind the shield and glanced at the damage. "The Director isn't going to like this," he murmured to himself. Natasha stood up with a slight wince. "What," he asked. His eyes quickly scanned her body for any injuries. "You're bleeding."

"Shrapnel," she responded. "Nothing to worry about, Cap. Nice play. Let's get out of here." Rogers looked worried, but obediently led her out of the building.

"We need to get going. Now," Banner insisted. "SHIELD has agents on the way, and I'm pretty sure the Canadian police are going to beat them here. We just exploded a provincial park." Barton nodded, gave each of his kids a quick look over and a kiss on the forehead, and slid into the pilot seat. Natasha followed suit- making sure Philip and Amelia were physically unharmed before throwing on the harness and headset in the co-pilot's seat.

"Everyone okay," Stark asked as his faceplate retracted. The door to the jet closed behind him, and Barton lifted the jet off the ground before speeding back towards New York.

"Yeah," Philip affirmed as Rogers secured the seatbelt around the teenager's chest. Banner worked quickly next to him, getting Amelia fastened into her own chair. "We're good. Doom's a crazy lunatic." Stark laughed and agreed.

"Are you bleeding," Banner asked as he glanced down at Amelia's shirt.

"No," she responded. "I don't think so. Nothing touched me."

"Romanov," Rogers grumbled.

"Tasha," Barton asked, taking his eyes off the course for a second.

"I'm fine." He looked skeptically at her, but said nothing more. With the new jet, the trip home was quite short, no longer than an hour and a half.

They unloaded quickly. The elevator opened to reveal a very unhappy Director Fury. He glared at them through his one good eye. When his gaze landed on Natasha, his brow furrowed.

"Agent Romanov," he addressed.

"Yes sir." She wavered on her feet slightly. Barton took a second to really look at her. The right side of her suit, just above her hip and wrapping around from her back to front, was shredded. Her pale, bloodied skin peeked out through the material. He grimaced. She was obviously ignoring her wound in order to get her children back home safe and sound.

"Shit, Tasha." He murmured quietly as he stepped up next to her, ready to catch her in case she actually lost her footing.

"You're injured," the Director stated.

"It's nothing, sir." She countered, her voice strong despite her increasing lack of color.

"Agent Romanov, you need medical attention." She clenched her jaw at his statement, but continued to stand her ground.

"Was there something you needed, Director?" Her words were icy. She was still angry that he had kept the whereabouts of her children secret for as long as he had. Her stance was impeccable as she focused on glaring at the authoritative man ominously.

"You broke protocol."

"You didn't give us much of a choice, Director." Banner countered.

"We just rescued Philip and Amelia. Is now the best time to have this conversation?" Rogers asked. "I think it would be polite to give us all some time to process the day's events. Clearly, some of us need medical attention and whatnot. I think it would be more appropriate to debrief tomorrow." The unofficial team leader stepped forward as he professionally ushered the director back towards the elevator and out of the tower.

"Thanks, Cap," Barton said. His attention focused on his wife, who was looking exceptionally more pale than normal. "Tasha, we need to look at your side." She rolled her eyes, but didn't openly object.

"Am I needed," Banner asked as he knelt to look more closely at Natasha's wound.

"I think I got it, but I'll let you know if it's out of my capability, Doc." Barton smiled as he clapped Banner on the shoulder gratefully. "Come on, let's get you all downstairs."

"You're both okay, right?" Rogers checked, walking a few steps behind his niece and nephew. Both teenagers seemed to be exhausted, practically dead on their feet. They nodded and leaned into him as he wrapped a muscled arm around each of their shoulders. "Good. I'm glad you're both home safely. If you need anything, you know where to find me." He smiled softly. Banner and Stark followed behind the group, hugging each teenager in turn before the elevator appeared.

"No more lunatics," Stark called out as the elevator doors started to close.

"Doesn't that generalization include you," Philip retorted with a tired smirk. Stark laughed loudly. "How you doin', Mom?"

"I'm okay," she insisted.

"You don't look so good." Amelia pointed out gently.

"Really, all of you stop fretting. I'm fine. You're both home safely. That's what's important. I'm thinking we all take tomorrow off," she decided.

"I second that. We're all playing hooky," Clint decided.

"Cool, I don't have to do my chemistry homework." Philip smiled, nodding his head.

"Does that mean I get to stay up late," Amelia asked hopefully.

"Sure," Clint agreed. He knew just by looking at his daughter that as soon as she ate something and took a shower, she would be fast asleep. He bargained it would likely be the same case for Philip. "How about some macaroni and cheese?" Both kids smiled tiredly as they shuffled out of the elevator towards the suite door.

As the door closed behind them, Natasha felt her Black Widow façade starting to slip. Her emotions made themselves known and she felt the overwhelming desire to wrap her children in a tight hug and never let go. The pain hit her next. Clenching her jaw and pushing the pain from her mind, she pulled Amelia into a hug, wrapping her arms around the girl's shoulders. Amelia sighed contentedly and tucked her head against Natasha's chest. Her mother stroked her hair softly as she pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Я тебя люблю так много." Natasha whispered; her words muffled by Amelia's curls.

"I love you too, Mommy." The agent ignored the sharp pain as Amelia tightened her arms briefly before letting go. "I'm going to take a shower before food."

Natasha nodded and smiled sadly as Philip shuffled off to the corner. She opened her arms and her son rushed to her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her neck, as he was already taller than she was. She rubbed his back, holding him close. "You were so brave," she murmured in his ear. "You did such a good job."

"I was scared," he admitted softly, tightening his hug.

"It's okay to be scared."

"You're never scared," Philip countered.

"That's not true." She pulled back and held him at arm's length. "That's not true at all. Fury called and told us you and your sister were missing, and I have never been more scared in my life."

"You didn't look scared."

"I've had a lot of practice," she responded sadly. He nodded. "Whether you were scared or not, you were brave, and that's what matters. You're home now, and you're safe." He nodded again. "I love you."

Philip smiled and nodded, yet again. "I love you too." He finally stepped away and walked to his room to take a shower.

When his door closed, Natasha leaned against the closest wall, breathing heavily. With the adrenalin of the mission wearing off, her Black Widow façade placed neatly in storage, and the events of the day washing over her, she distinctly felt the pain radiating in her side. She braced herself against the wall and focused on her breathing. _In and out_, she repeated silently. _Pain is mental. Focus on the task and the pain will subside_.

"Tasha," Clint called from the kitchen. When he got no response, he walked back to the foyer and was immediately at her side. "Tasha," he asked worriedly.

"Okay," she conceded. "I may need some help." Clint nodded briskly. He gently lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the master bedroom to remove the imbedded shrapnel and stitch her up before they all sat down as a family and enjoyed some macaroni and cheese.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: As always, please review.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It depresses me greatly.

"Amelia, open the door right this instant." Clint knocked on the door repeatedly. "I will kick it down if I have to."

"Go away," she seethed.

"Amelia Jane Barton, unlock this door."

"Ha, you got middle-named." Philip laughed as he walked through the hallway to his bedroom.

"Shut up!" She screamed through the door as she kicked the base of the door.

"Philip, not now. Don't you have homework to do?" Clint asked with a groan. "Amelia, do not kick the door. Open up."

"I finished my homework. I have nothing to do besides rain on her parade." Philip countered as he leaned against the wall.

"I will middle name you too. Go do something. Really almost anything will work," Clint grumbled. "Amelia, I'm not kidding. Open the door."

"Do I need to say it in another language? Go away. Пойдите прочь." The teenager kicked the door again. Philip snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"We're not done with this conversation," Clint called through the door. "You, smirking teenager, come with me."

"I was just kidding, Dad." Philip groaned as he stomped after his father.

"Nope, come with me. I've got questions."

"I didn't do anything." Still, the boy followed him into the other room.

"I swear if you tell him anything, I'll kill you," Amelia shouted, still through the closed door.

"Hey, young lady, you know we do not use that threat in this house ever." Clint scolded through the door as he rubbed a tired hand over his face. He sighed and dropped himself onto a barstool, motioning for Philip to sit next to him. "What in the world is going on?"

"I don't know anything." The teenager grumbled as he stared fixatedly at the countertop.

"Philip, I'm flying blind. Help me out."

"Something about her best friend and that kid she went to the dance with. She's been in a really pissy mood."

"Okay, so that led to her slapping someone because?"

"I don't know. I was getting my crap from my locker." Clint raised his eyebrows. Philip quickly amended his statement. "I was getting my stuff from my locker. I walked outside and Amelia was fuming, like Mom-when-you-destroyed-her-favorite-gun kind of mad." Clint blanched a little at the thought, clearly remembering the incidence. He hadn't been allowed back in the tower until he flew to Arnsberg, Germany, to buy another Walther Polizeipistole Kriminalmodell. It had been a very exhausting roundtrip. "So basically she's kind of snappy. You probably just said something stupid."

Clint glared at him. "Thanks, smart ass."

"You can cuss but I can't? Totally not fair."

"Sucks to suck," Clint replied with a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, please stop trying to be all cool and whatever," Philip begged. "You're embarrassing."

"I'm embarrassing," Clint asked sardonically. "I'm embarrassing," he repeated. "You haven't seen embarrassing yet. Next time, you and your friends are over; you just prepare yourself."

"You're an Avenger. Aren't you supposed to be cool? Big, badass superhero saving the world or something?"

"I'll allow the badass terminology simply because it's very fitting."

Philip rolled his eyes dramatically. "No, I said aren't you supposed to be a badass superhero. You are not a badass superhero. You have a bow and arrow."

"Hey, there was a time you thought my bow was cool."

"Was I still in diapers?" Philip challenged with a teasing laugh.

"Oh, you'll pay for that. I don't know how yet, but you will pay. And you will be so embarrassed by whatever revenge I can concoct, the correct term will be mortified. Now, if you've done your homework, go find something else to do."

"Trust me, I shouldn't have a problem finding something to do." Philip slipped off the barstool, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and walked towards his room.

"No porn," Clint called out as an afterthought.

"Jesus, Dad!"

"Just explicitly forbidding such things." When Philip's door was closed, Clint rolled his eyes and dropped his head to the counter with a resounding thump. He grasped his phone and sighed again. "Drink," he muttered to himself. "I need a drink." Down the hall, Amelia turned her stereo up as loud as it could go. "Or two," he amended. When Philip cranked up his stereo to battle his sister's, Clint audibly groaned and wondered briefly if he could kill the power in their two rooms only. "At this rate, I'm going to need a bottle."

He walked to Philip's door, knocking before opening it. "Hey, turn it down please."

"I can't hear myself think over her girl music! I'll turn mine down when she does." Philip shouted over his music.

"No. That is not how this works. You have headphones. Put them on. I'm not going to ask again."

"Whatever," the teenager grumbled as he turned in his desk chair to focus on his computer screen.

"Great, lovely talking to you." He closed the door behind him before taking a few steps to the left. He knocked and tested the knob, almost sighing in relief that his daughter unlocked her daughter. "Hey, I'm not going to force you to talk." He said immediately, holding his hands up in front of him as a sign of surrender. "I'll be here to listen if you need anything." She glared at him in a stare that was remarkably intimidating as Natasha's. Her green eyes were filled with anger and hurt. He wished he could make it all go away. "Please turn down your music in the meantime."

"I like it loud."

"Then put on your headphones and ruin your hearing."

"I want it like this."

"Amelia," he sighed. "Just turn down the music. You don't have to turn it off. Just turn it down so that your door is vibrating like a tambourine off its hinges."

"Whatever." She mumbled, twisting the knob to an appropriate volume.

"Thank you." He closed her door as he walked back into the kitchen. "Such eloquent children I have." As he poured himself a drink, Amelia's stereo returned to its original, obnoxious volume. Of course, Philip's music increased steadily. "For fuck's sake," he groaned. His head pulsating constantly as the two soundtracks clashed together loudly. "JARVIS, please cut the stereos and keep them powered down until further notice." He asked pleadingly. The AI responded immediately and the apartment was filled with silence for about twenty seconds.

"WHAT THE FUCK," Philip shouted as he walked out of his room, slamming the door behind him. "Turn my music back on."

"No."

"GODDAMNIT! What did you do? Give me back my music! I need my music." Amelia screamed, coming to stand in the kitchen and glare at her father menacingly.

"No." Clint stood his ground, leaning against the counter with his scotch in one hand and the other hand massaging his temple in hopes of eradicating the tension headache.

"No," Amelia seethed. "No? I need my music. JARVIS, turn the music back on."

"I'm sorry, miss. I'm under strict orders to prohibit use of your stereo."

"Dad, give me my music back!"

"Why did you turn mine off," Philip shouted. "I wasn't doing anything. She's the one that's been slamming doors, kicking things, slapping people, and being a pain in the ass. I was just listening to my damn music and minding my own business."

"You want your music? You have an iPod. Use headphones."

"I don't want to wear headphones," Amelia countered loudly.

"Then you can't listen to music."

"What is wrong with you?" She screamed; her tone, her posture, her words – all radiated anger and irritation. "Why are you so freaking controlling?"

"Darling, you don't know controlling. I'm about a minute away from calling your mother and letting her deal with the two of you. Amelia, I know you had a rough day. I get that. Trust me. I understand that concept. I understand wanting to let off a little steam. Fine. If music is your way to do it, great, but remember you are not the only one living in this house, young lady. Use headphones. Philip, you know exactly what you were doing. And, for the last time, stop cussing."

The teenagers glowered at him as he continued.

"In case you both have forgotten, we have rules in this house. You had a bad day. We understand, but the rules don't change just because your day didn't go as you planned."

"I need my music," Amelia insisted.

"And I didn't take away your music. I took away your ability to blast your music without consideration to the other people who live here or the people who have hearing aids." He gestured to the devices clipped over his ears. "I asked you both to turn it down. I did not mean turn it down for five minutes to appease me. I meant turn it down and keep it down. As it's a question we are constantly asking the both of you, it's a question you should know the answer to. Thus, you both lost the ability to utilize your stereos. Amelia, I'm sure you've got homework to do, and you can be sure your mother and I are going to have a conversation about slapping people in front of school. Philip, go do something quietly." He stressed the last word emphatically. Both teenagers promptly turned and stomped away before slamming each of their doors.

"Oh for the love of God," he muttered to himself. "Just think, Barton, the teenage years are only just beginning." Clint downed what was left in his drink.

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"Rough night," Natasha asked as she leaned against the sink and took off her makeup.

"We have two teenagers who both decided to put their insane attitudes on display tonight." He answered with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting gently on her lower abdomen. His head lowered to her shoulder. She nodded understandingly. "It's only going to get worse, isn't it?" She nodded again, smiling sadly. She raised her palm, pressing it against the side of his head tenderly. Turning her head slightly, she kissed his temple. "How was the gala?"

"Not bad."

"You looked beautiful in the dress."

She smiled graciously. "Natalie Rushman has a great wardrobe," Natasha mused.

"I have to say, though, as much as I loved seeing you in the dress, I would love to see you out of the dress. Preferably with it on the floor," Clint nuzzled her neck.

"Oh yeah," she asked as her bright green eyes locked with his grays in the mirror. Her smirk was devious.

"Oh yeah," he murmured. He swept her hair away from her neck as he lined kisses along the delicate curve of her shoulder. Almost on cue, music started pulsating through the suite. He groaned audibly, dropping his forehead to her shoulder once again. "For the love of god," he muttered, his words muffled by the pale skin of his wife's shoulder.

"I got it," Natasha promised. She pressed another soothing kiss to his temple. He nodded gratefully as he released his arms that were keeping her in place in front of him. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." She winked at him and he repressed the involuntary shudder, hoping that she could resolve the issue quickly. He sighed and stumbled over to the bed before collapsing on to it haphazardly. He pulled the hearing aids off of his ears and dropped them onto his bedside table.

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"So you have a boyfriend," Abby asked excitedly.

"No, I have a friend who is a boy." Amelia explained exasperatedly.

"Mommy told Daddy it was a boyfriend." Sophie pointed out. "Daddy's not allowed to talk to your boyfriend."

"If only my dad wasn't allowed to talk to him," the oldest girl mumbled dejectedly.

"So he is your boyfriend," Abby clapped. "What's he like?"

"Is he like Justin Beiber?"

"Does he buy you pretty things like Daddy buys Mommy flowers and jewelry?"

"Do you talk all the time?"

"Did Uncle Clint shoot him?"

"Okay, okay." Amelia held up her hands in a feeble attempt to halt the interrogation of the hyperactive twins. "He's not my boyfriend. He's not like Justin Beiber. He doesn't buy me things. We talk enough. My dad… well he hasn't shot him yet."

"Why isn't he your boyfriend? What's his name? Is Uncle Clint going to shoot him?"

"I'm going swimming," the redheaded teenager decided.

"Oh cool! I just got a new suit for summer!" Sophie cheered.

"Swell," Amelia mumbled. "We listen to my music though. I can't stand anymore of the Jonas Brothers or whatever it is you both find so freaking exciting now." The twins conceded before running off to change. The girls spent the day lounging around the pool, being joined by Rogers, Clint, and Philip after a particularly taxing workout.

"So Miss Abby, are you excited about your new school," Natasha asked as she laid out on one of the lawn chairs on the roof pool.

"It's going to be different. My friends are going somewhere else," the girl mumbled.

"Sometimes different is good. What about you, Sophie? What do you think about the new school?" Natasha prompted, squinting through the large sunglasses on her face.

"Well, Philip and 'Melia will be there, so there's that. Mommy said we could get new backpacks with our initials. I get to learn French, which should be cool." Sophie shrugged. "You speak French Auntie Red, right?"

"Oui Madame. Vous voulez apprendre le français?"

"Oui, oui."

"What about you, Abby? Which language are you going to take?"

"I was thinking about French, but Spanish and Italian sound pretty cool," the girl mused.

"All three are useful languages. You both get to wear new uniforms too. Pepper, when I take Philip and Amelia to get more properly fitting uniforms, I can take the girls and get them all situated." She called to her strawberry blonde friend on another chair.

"Oh that would be great. I think Tony is scarred from the constant shopping. He claims his credit card is also a bit scarred, but clearly, no one is suffering from any economic hardships in this family." She laughed as she gestured to the opulent pool area.

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September rolled around and it was exceptionally hot in New York. Everyone was falling back into a routine. Happy took all four kids to school each day, and Stark had hired a body guard to float through the halls and keep an eye on everything. Philip grumbled constantly about the inconvenience and the girls whined about the lack of privacy. Stark wouldn't hear one word about it, even threatening at one point to put more than one guard at the school. Pepper insisted that the guards were not to get involved unless there was an imminent danger.

Amelia leaned against the wall, smiling brightly, as she talked to Blake. Given the heat, she ditched the uniform's blazer and rolled her skirt to make it shorter, though the adjustment to her clothing probably wasn't all due to the heat. Blake grinned as he placed his hand against the wall to the side of her head and leaned into it.

"So this weekend," he prompted.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

"Your parents keep a pretty tight leash on you."

"They're over the top most of the time, but trust me, I've learned ways around it. What did you have planned in the chance I can ditch and get out?"

"There's a concert we could go see. My older brother got tickets. He can take us."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Amelia mused. "Maybe I can just ask them. Where is it?"

"A club on the West Side. 18 and up," Blake noted with a slight grimace. "But Brian says he can get us in no problem. Concert starts at 10."

"Yeah, I'm definitely not going to be ask my parents that, especially since, you know, I'm clearly not 18. My mother tends to not forget anything. The likelihood that she'll happen to forget that I'm actually 14 is microscopic. I'll figure out another way."

"Sounds good, babe. Hey, aren't those your cousins?" Blake nodded in the direction of the twins, who were slowly being cornered by a group of three 7th graders.

"Yeah, who's in the group?" Amelia tilted her head to the side as she assessed the situation.

Blake mumbled something, clearly not paying attention to the situation over his shoulder anymore. "I think the blonde one is Sarah Ferguson. I don't know who her lackies are. Anyway, what are you doing now? We should run grab coffee before your guard swoops in and drags you home."

"Didn't Sarah Ferguson get suspended for bitch slapping someone after someone said she cheated on her test?"

"Hmm, babe, I don't know. Coffee," the boy asked hopefully.

"Excuse me a second." Amelia slung her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her blazer before walking over to the twins. Easily she stepped in between her cousins and the advancing Sarah Ferguson. "You guys okay?" She glanced to the left and right looking at Abby and Sophie in turn. Sophie shook her head and glared at Sarah, now that Amelia was standing between them. "What's the problem?"

"This isn't about you," Sarah growled.

"Let me stop you right there. You see you terrorize my cousins and you make it about me. What's the problem?" Amelia directed her question at one of her cousins.

"She tripped over me when I was getting my books out of my locker, and now she's mad." Abby informed as she shifted slightly behind her older cousin.

"You tripped me on purpose, you bitch," Sarah cursed as she pointed a finger menacingly at the small twelve-year-old.

"Hey, watch it. I'm sure it was just an accident. Why don't you run along?" Amelia insisted, waving the irate 7th grader off.

"Excuse me," the blonde girl balked. Her hands on her hips, she stopped to glare at Amelia. "Do you know who my father is?"

"No, and I don't care." Amelia shrugged nonchalantly.

"My father is—" Sarah continued, fuming.

"You clearly didn't hear me. I do not give a crap who your father is. If we're playing the game of whose parent is more influential, I can promise you, without a doubt, that you will lose. Now, walk away."

"Let's play that game. I never lose," Sarah insisted.

"Fine. You first." Amelia replied smugly. She didn't like relying on her family's name to win her battles, but hell, you play the game your opponent picks.

"My father is one of the most influential men on Wall Street. He's a private banker. We own houses all over the world." Sarah grinned, clearly thinking she had the winning hand.

Amelia hummed thoughtfully. "You sure you don't want to walk away and save yourself from the humiliation."

"Calling your bluff; I don't think so."

"Sad day for you. First, their father is Tony Stark of Stark Industries. Their mother is Pepper Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. My mother and father are Avengers, you know the team of superheroes that frequently saves the world. Captain America, Thor, and the Hulk are our uncles. Now, you choose to play the game. Sadly, you've lost. Run along now." Sarah scoffed, but turned dramatically on her heels before walking away, her lackies trailing behind her. "Oh," Amelia called after her. "They're off limits. Screw with them again, and you won't like the result."

"Thanks. It really was an accident," Abby muttered.

"Don't worry about it. Tell me if she bugs you again. Happy is probably outside by now." Amelia ushered the twins towards the opening of the courtyard. "Oh, wait. Hold on." She ran over to where she left Blake, leaned in to kiss him sweetly on the cheek. "I'll call you when I get home. We've got plans to make." She winked before running back over to her cousins.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: As always, please review. My muse demanded I write some angst, so this chapter is kind of fluffy and kind of angsty. In response to some of the reviews, I apologize, but I do not schedule regular updates. I write when I can, and sometimes that means I can get two chapters up in two days (like these) or two chapters in two weeks. I'm sorry for the irregular updates. Also, don't worry; this story will keep its current rating of T, so no one needs to worry about any inappropriate material.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It depresses me greatly.

"Let me get this straight. JARVIS is susceptible to magnets. Your brilliant, egotistical mind has figured out how to make that weakness not a weakness," Clint growled.

"Very eloquent, Robin Hood. Very eloquent indeed. It wasn't a magnet per say. I made some updates to the code, and I was rebooting JARVIS when your strong-willed daughter vanished. Clearly, she's the Black Widow's daughter."

"Trust me, Stark. I know," Clint grumbled. "I can't believe she just left. How did she know the system was rebooting?"

"She might have asked me the other day to update a system so that JARVIS could sync with her particular cell phone. It's set to sync automatically with our phones, but she wanted to sync it to her phone, which is a much different model than our phones. I needed to tweak the code a little bit to allow for synchronization."

"For fuck's sake. She really is Natasha's kid. She played you, Stark." Clint whistled. "Damn, if I wasn't so pissed, I would commend her on a plan well thought out. She left her phone here, didn't she? Presumably so that you could make sure it synced the way she wanted." Tony nodded. "Yep, damn good plan. Okay, well, anyway," Clint sighed. "You and Pepper have fun tonight."

"Call me if you need anything," Tony replied, clapping a hand to the archer's shoulder. "Though, are you sure I can't use this an excuse? Pepper's dragging me somewhere to something way on the other side of town; some shit about it being a press event. It's not going to be fun. I could say that I need to excuse myself from tonight's plans to help find Amelia because she's 14 and shouldn't be wandering around New York by herself."

"Pepper will kill you," Clint stated clearly.

Tony nodded with a grimace. "Yes, yes she would. Good luck finding your rebellious child."

"Yeah, good luck with your horrendous evening plans." Barton called out as he started pacing. "JARVIS, where is Natasha?"

"In the gym, sir." The AI responded quickly and politely. "Should I tell her you request her presence?"

"Yeah, that wouldn't go over well. Thanks though, JARVIS. I'll just go down and talk to her." He changed directions and headed for the elevator. "Well," he shouted from the door over the sound of Natasha's music in the gym. "Amelia is definitely your daughter." The redheaded woman stopped mid-kick and turned to look at him.

"She does look like a younger version of me, though her snarky attitude is all you, Barton."

"Oh please," he laughed. "You are so full of shit." She turned to look at him, her hands on her hips with a glint of humor in her eyes. "You have way more attitude than I do any day of the week. The sarcasm, though, I'll take the blame for that one."

"You're interrupting my work out to talk about how Amelia compares the two of us? Really? I thought you valued your wellbeing more than that. I'm hoping you have a point."

"She played Stark and slipped out of the building when he was rebooting JARVIS. I blame the boy."

"You know he's involved?" Natasha asked, cocking her head to one side, as she efficiently unwound the wraps protecting her hands and knuckles.

"Call it a gut feeling. Now I have solid reasoning to shoot him."

"No, you can't shoot him. Track her phone."

"She left it with Stark. It was part of her cover to get him to reboot the system."

"Damn good plan for a fourteen-year-old," she murmured.

"Right? This has Natalia Romanova written all over it, Tasha. Sans the mercenary part, of course," he amended with a smirk. She rolled her eyes dramatically at him. "If it is because of the boy, and I know it's the boy. It's always the boy; we should call his parents and ask where he is."

"She would have told him to say he was at a friend's house or something. She knows we would call Blake's parents first thing."

"Damn you and your genetics that turned our child into a sneaky little spy."

"Hey, she's half yours, and if I recall correctly, you were a rebellious little shit when you were a teenager."

"Oh, hush. Everyone's like that as teenagers. She's putting all of your genetic skills to use in evading us. Can't we just lock her away and throw away the key until she's not in danger?"

"No, Clint," Natasha laughed. "As appealing as that sounds at the moment, I'm pretty sure that's grounds for neglect or child abuse. We either come up with a really good plan of discipline or traipse around the city trying to find her. Your choice."

"I'm envisioning weeks without cell service and limited computer usage," he dreamed. Natasha snorted and flashed him an agreeing smile.

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"I can't believe this worked," Blake grinned excitedly. "Isn't that cool, Brian?"

"Whatever, you still owe me money for dragging your ass along. We better not be late."

"It's 9:25. Blake said the concert doesn't start until 10. We've got plenty of time." Amelia reminded him, leaning back into the seat of the cab. Blake smiled and threw his arm around her shoulders. "How are we getting in if the club has an age limit?"

"Don't worry about it, girlie." Brian responded coolly, focusing on his phone and effectively ignoring anything else.

"Right," Amelia drawled slowly.

"Any idea how you're going to get back in the house when we drop you off," Blake asked.

"Philip owes me a favor or thirty. I'll cash some of them in."

"Anything more specific than that?"

"Let me just bask in the glow of managing to get out of the tower in the first place. I'll think of something," she insisted.

"Is your father going to shoot me?"

"No, he's never going to find out that I went out with you. If worst comes to worst, I'll tell him that I went out with a friend that doesn't exist. I would prefer if he not kill you, so we'll keep your name out of it entirely. Though, trust me, worst won't come to worst." Amelia nodded, her long red curls shifting gently as she tugged nervously at her dress. "It'll be fine," she murmured apprehensively.

Brian gave money to the cab driver as they pulled up to the club. There was a long line outside the door. The music from inside seemed to ooze out of the building. Amelia felt her pulse quicken to pulse in time with the music; she grinned at the adrenalin rush and the culmination of her plan. She was where she wanted to be, and no one was the wiser. Sure, she knew she would be in a ton of trouble, but it was all about instant gratification. She stood at the door of an exciting club about to see a cool new band with her boyfriend.

"Once we get in, figure it out on your own." Brian grumbled to Blake. "Just make sure you answer your phone. We leave when I say we leave; clear?" Blake nodded and followed closely behind his older brother. He clasped Amelia's hand in his own and grinned back at her. Amelia smiled and let him lead her to the door of the club. Brian nodded to the bouncer, who removed the ropes and let the three into the club.

"It's loud," Blake yelled over the sound of the music. Amelia bobbed her head in agreement. She could feel the music pulsing through her veins. She wanted to dance and enjoy her night. Her boyfriend said something to his brother, who looked to be very put upon. Still, Brian nodded reluctantly and dragged them further into the club. "He's going to get us drinks," he informed her. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Beer," he shouted for clarification.

She licked her lips and nodded slowly. _Well crap_, she thought to herself. _I'm really going to be dead if they smell beer on me_.

"He says it's so packed no one will notice! We can only have one each though. Sorry," Blake said with an apologetic shrug.

"No, one's enough." Amelia insisted. "I probably won't finish mine." Blake frowned, his brow creasing. "But I'll try," she quickly amended, flashing her boyfriend a grin.

"Good!"

"Let's dance," she called. He nodded and gripped her hips. She bit her lip and hooked her arms around his neck. At one point, Brian thrust two beers sans the labels into Blake's hand, reminded him to keep his phone on, and disappeared into the crowd. Blake smiled and offered her a drink. She accepted hesitantly.

"Cheers," he shouted. They clinked glasses as if they weren't illegally drinking in a club in New York at 9:50 at night without supervision. She took a tentative sip and grimaced. _Wow, that tastes like shit_, she thought. She wrapped her arms around Blake's neck, letting the beer bottle rest against his back as the neck of the bottle with clasped tightly in her palm. Briefly, she thought about how this music would probably shatter her father's hearing aids. She quickly banished that train of thought and took another swig from her bottle.

They danced to the pulsing beat, losing themselves in the rhythm and the lights.

"Hey, I think the band's about to come out," Blake yelled leaning down to her ear. "Some guy is going to introduce them, or at least that's what Brian said about how these things normally work."

"Why does the band need an intro? Can't they just come out and play? I don't want the music to stop just to listen to some guy blab. I like dancing. You can't really dance to a guy's intro."

Blake shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know. Brian said he owns the place or something. Maybe he won't talk too long and the band will come out," he suggested hopefully.

"Hey, y'all quiet down. The sooner the man speaks, the sooner the band plays." The MC called as he adjusted the volume on the music. "Mix would like to present Mr. Anthony Stark, who will be introducing tonight's showcase."

Amelia visibly paled.

"Umm," Blake grimaced. "Did he just say—" His words trailed off as none other than Tony Stark strutted on stage. "Oh shit. What is your uncle doing here?" His voice was pitched high with the fear of getting caught. He looked at Amelia, whose green eyes were wide. "What do we do?"

"It's a big crowd. We avoid him," she stuttered. "We avoid him like the Plague. Oh my god. Now, I don't know whether I'm terrified or ecstatic that I'm holding a beer."

"No, you're right. It's a huge crowd with tons of people. He won't see us. Plus, we're shorter than most of the people in here." Blake tried to reassure her; though he was mentally listing all the ways his girlfriend's father would hurt him.

When the band came out, it was easier to forget that Stark was in the building at all. Amelia and Blake danced and jumped along with the beat. The music was loud and encompassing. It had a strong beat, and the band was actually pretty good. It seemed like they were in their own little world. The crowd around them shifted and ebbed, and neither teenager seemed to notice.

"Whoa," Amelia called. "When did we get over here?" She looked around, noticing for the first time that the couple had ended up on the outer edge of the crowd towards one edge of the club that was lined with booths.

"Let's work our way back to the middle," Blake suggested. He took her free hand and turned to assess the crowd.

"Remember, I don't have a phone. You can't lose me." She reminded him, pulling him down so she could speak into his ear.

"Oh yeah. Might not have been the best idea," he grumbled.

"Hey, it got us here, didn't it?" She asked defensively. He nodded sheepishly.

"Then let's just dance right here. They probably left by now anyway." Amelia bit her lip skeptically, but nodded. She took a sip from her drink and slowly started to feel the music again, letting her body flow with the song.

It wasn't long before she felt a strong hand clasp her shoulder. She jumped as a deep voice spoke into her ear. "That had better not be beer." Amelia squeezed her eyes shut as she turned to face her uncle, who looked to be quite upset.

"It's not," she shook her head. "It's root beer." She lifted the bottle to her lips and downed the last bit of it before Tony could say anything. When he reached for it, she dropped it to the ground, grateful at once for the large mass of people that immediately sent the bottle rolling out of the way. "Great speech," she congratulated. "I didn't know you owned the club."

"Get in the car now," Tony spoke slowly and menacingly. "We are leaving. Actually, no, how did you get in here?" He pulled her out of the crowd towards the wall of booths. She grasped Blake's hand tightly in hers. "Amelia, so, help me God, how did you get in here?"

"Blake's older brother got tickets. I don't know how we got in." She replied; she looked straight at the ground.

"You don't know how you got in?" He sighed and looked around, trying to find Happy in the large mix of people. "Where's Pepper?" Tony mouthed to his friend. Happy motioned to the bar and started working slowly through the people to talk to Pepper. Tony returned his attention to his niece. "Your older brother, did he just leave you both here?"

"No sir," Blake stuttered. "He's here somewhere."

"Do you have a phone?"

"Yes sir." The boy visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Call him. Tell him you are leaving and we are dropping you off at your house. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Blake quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and started texting. His skin was much paler than it had been moments ago.

"Let's go." He led the two teenagers from the club. Pepper joined up with them once they passed the bar, and she scowled disappointedly at Amelia. Tony stopped for a second to talk to the manager at the door. "The bouncer who was on shift…" He paused. "What time did you get here?" Amelia bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to answer. Blake looked steadily at the floor. "Amelia, what time did you get here?"

"9:45 or so," she replied quietly.

Tony glowered at her. "The bouncer who was on shift at 9:45 is fired." He spoke authoritatively. The manager's gaze shifted between the angry club owner and the two shamefaced teenagers, who were clearly underage. He gulped and nodded immediately.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Get in the car," he addressed his niece. "You, where do you live?" Tony asked Blake as the young boy slid into the limo. He muttered his address, and Happy took off down the street towards the aforementioned location.

The ride was silent and tense.

"Good night. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Stark. I'll talk to you later, Amelia. " The teenager slipped from the car and practically sprinted into his apartment complex. The doorman grimaced slightly.

"What were you thinking?" Pepper admonished as soon as Blake was out of earshot. "You are fourteen, and you were by yourself in a club in New York." Amelia said nothing, focusing on the carpeted flooring of the vehicle.

"Were you drinking," Tony asked. His voice was somewhat softer than it had been in the club. Pepper gasped quietly at her husband's question. Still, Amelia was silent. She swallowed, thankful for the darkened interior of the limo.

"You weren't. Amelia, you're fourteen. What is going on? You're sneaking out, going to clubs alone, drinking, and lying to your family. What is happening?" The sorrow in Pepper's voice almost made Amelia respond. It was going to be a long night.

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Pepper and Tony escorted her to the common area once they arrived at the Tower. Philip lounged in the living room, his feet propped up on the back of the couch and his head dangling off the seat cushion. He played his muted video game upside down. Abby and Sophie were asleep on one of the nearby couches. Tony smiled wistfully at them. The teenage boy looked over when he heard their footsteps and righted himself at the sight of his sister.

"You are in such deep shit." Philip noted, scrubbing a hand over his face. His eyes were sympathetic though, and he pulled his sister into a rare hug. "You okay," he whispered into her ear. She nodded against his chest. "I'll take the girls upstairs."

"I'll be right back." Tony muttered to Pepper. He walked over to the couch and lifted Abby into his arms. Philip followed suit, picking up Sophie wedding-style, and walked to the elevator. The doors opened to reveal a scowling Clint and Natasha. Amelia grimaced. _A long night indeed_, she thought. Tony repeated his earlier sentiment to the master assassins, who nodded and walked towards their daughter.

"Where were you," Natasha asked. Her voice was calm and controlled. The teenager stared steadily at the ground. "Amelia," she requested. "Where were you?"

The silence in the room was heavy.

"Damnit, your mother asked you a question." Clint growled. "Sit down." She obeyed almost immediately, dropping into the single person armchair in the living room. "Where were you?" Silence. Natasha and Clint sent conversation-filled glances back and forth as they tried to silently agree upon a course of action.

"Fine. Stark will tell us," Clint grumbled. So they waited until the billionaire returned. "Where was she?"

"She was at Mix, an 18-and-up club on the West Side, with her boyfriend. I found her and she was holding a beer bottle, though she claimed it was a root beer." He answered coolly, though his clipped tone gave away his irritation.

"Were you drinking?" Clint demanded, standing up to pace the living room floor. "Were you?" He rubbed at the sides of his head as he tried to mitigate the headache forming. "You are fourteen, Amelia. You were drinking." His anger was rolling off of him in waves.

Natasha glanced between her fuming, pacing husband and her silent, brooding daughter. She resisted the urge to groan. "Amelia," she murmured softly. She purposefully let her disappointment cloud her tone. The teenager looked up to meet her mother's gaze. "Go to bed. We'll talk about this in the morning. For the time being, no phone, no computer, nothing electronic or social until we talk."

"Okay," Amelia murmured. She got up quickly and quietly left the room.

When the elevator doors closed, Natasha sighed and dropped her head to her hands. She looked up at the three adults in the room. "Okay," Clint started, his voice still radiating anger as he paced. "Between the four of us, someone has got to have an idea about how to handle this. I voted for locking her in a tower until she's a mature adult, but Natasha already vetoed that suggestion earlier. I also voted for using the boy for my latest target practice and arrow demo, but again, Natasha vetoed that."

"I like your idea," Stark grumbled. "I cannot believe she lied to me. She played me to get what she wanted."

"We can't do that," Pepper insisted. "You know we can't do that. How are you going to get her to talk to either one of you? She's been dead silent since Tony pulled her off the dance floor."

"I asked her if she was drinking. She told me it was root beer. Then she downed the rest of the bottle and dropped it into the crowd. Fourteen," Tony murmured. "I have half a mind to liquidate the club and sell the pieces to the highest bidder. Who lets two fourteen-year-old kids into a club like that?"

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Natasha watched the neon lights on the microwave clock tick by. Her tea was long since cold, and she didn't notice. The woman was lost in her own thoughts, trying to figure out what to do. She felt out of her league, and that was not a feeling she enjoyed. Red Room taught her everything from hand-to-hand combat to multi-lingual interrogation methods. They altered her physiology by making her immune to many drugs and increasing the strength of her immune system and speed of recovery. What they never taught her was how to discipline a teenage girl without beating her to a bloody pulp, and that sure as hell wasn't an option.

Her thumb traced the lip of the mug methodically as her brain sifted through all the material she had ever read about raising teenagers. Both of her children had screwed up before, but each incident had been fairly minor in comparison to Amelia's latest act of rebellion. They were good kids. She didn't really know how they had turned out like that, but generally, on a day-to-day basis, they were good – bright, kind, and caring.

"Mom." A quiet voice pulled her from her reverie. Natasha glanced over to see her daughter shuffling nervously at the edge of the kitchen.

"Hmm." She hummed offering the redheaded teenager a sad, soft smile. When Amelia didn't respond, Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She waited patiently.

"I'm sorry," Amelia whispered.

"Are you? Or are you sorry you got caught? Моя дочь, there's a difference." The girl grimaced slightly at the question and rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Natasha realized she probably wouldn't get an answer. "Why are you awake this early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Seems to run in the family then," Natasha murmured. She took the time to analyze her daughter. The teenager was fidgeting and looked wholly awkward standing in her pajamas in the kitchen. "Come here." She opened her arms, and Amelia took the few steps to slip into her mother's embrace. Natasha held her daughter with one hand stroking the child's red curls. Amelia's arms gripped tightly to her mother's torso.

"I love you, Mom."

Natasha smiled softly. "I love you too."

"How mad is Dad?"

It was Natasha's turn to grimace. "Your father and Uncle Tony are remarkably and understandably upset."

"And you?" Amelia asked sadly, not entirely convinced she wanted the answer.

"I'm very disappointed." The girl visibly swallowed and shuffled nervously at her mother's reply. "Some hot tea, and then bed, okay?" Amelia nodded and released her arms to let Natasha get up. The two sat in silence drinking their fresh chamomile tea. When she finished, Amelia put her cup in the dishwasher, kissed her mother's cheek, and walked quietly back to her room.

Natasha allowed herself to sigh deeply. She briefly contemplated switching her tea to vodka. It was a fleeting thought, however, and she made herself another cup of tea. Eventually, she moved away from the countertop island to resituate herself near the large window to watch the sunrise.

"I woke up and you weren't there," Clint grumbled. His gruff, sleep-filled voice broke the peaceful silence. "Budge up." Natasha shifted in the large armchair and Clint dropped into the open space before pulling her back onto his lap. "Did you sleep at all," he asked softly. He took her empty teacup out of her hands and placed on the coffee table to the left. She shook her head and relaxed into his arms. There was something undeniably comforting about having his chest firmly pressed to her back and his arms twined around her. She felt safe. Her head dropped back to rest against his shoulder. "Tasha," he murmured. "You have to sleep."

"I know. I will," she promised. "I got up to get some tea, and one cup turned into a whole night of blankly staring at our kitchen appliances."

"Come up with any solutions?" He asked, knowing exactly what she was thinking about all night. He sighed softly when she shook her head. "Well, we'll come up with something eventually."

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"I get my license. I get my license. I get my license," Philip sang as he danced around the suite. "I get my license. I get my license. I get my license."

"Find new lyrics," Clint called from the kitchen. "Any other lyrics would be just fine."

"Let's get my license. Let's get my license," Philip altered as he attempted to moonwalk.

"Wow, just wow. That was remarkably graceful," Amelia teased. "You're a regular Michael Jackson."

"Ha ha. Shut up. I'm getting my license today. Nothing you could possibly say could harsh my buzz."

"Is that a challenge? I'm sure I could come up with something." Amelia smirked at her brother as he tripped over the fringed edge of the rug.

"Nope not a challenge, and you better be nice to me or I'm not going to drive you anywhere ever."

"Psh," Amelia sighed with a very dramatic eye roll. "They're not going to let you drive anywhere to begin with. Plus, why would I want to get in a car with you? I value my life, and you can barely pilot a remote-controlled helicopter."

"That wasn't my fault. Murphy broke it." Philip countered as he stopped his dancing momentarily to glare at his little sister.

"I'm just saying. You can't control a five-pound helicopter. You think I'm going to willingly get in a five-ton vehicle with you behind the wheel? No thank you."

"You'll change your mind when you want to go on a date. I will remember this moment," Philip promised. "I will remember. Like an elephant, I never forget."

"You're like an elephant in more ways than that. You're about as graceful as one too," Amelia retorted.

"Stop bickering," Natasha called with a humorous edge. "Come get pancakes."

"Then can we go get my license?" Philip shouted. "Please!" The teenagers walked into the kitchen to see their parents playing rock-paper-scissors. "What are you doing?"

"Ha! Scissors cuts paper. I win," Clint cried victoriously. "You have to go to the DMV." The archer started his victory dance, rocking out to the music only he could hear in his head.

"No. Best three out of five," Natasha demanded.

"Nope. Best two out of three means I don't have to go to the DMV." His wife scowled at him before swiping the plate of bacon away from him. "Hey!"

"Ha, if I have to go to the DMV, you can't have bacon."

"I made the bacon!"

"Sucks to suck." Natasha countered as she walked over to the table and even divided the bacon between three plates, leaving Clint's plate bare of bacon. "That's what happens when you pull out your victory dance."

"And they wonder where we get it from," Amelia sighed with a laugh as she sat down at her place.

"Were you seriously fighting about who is taking me to the DMV?" Philip balked as he sat down.

"You will understand when you go. It's the place where happiness goes to die," Clint retorted as he walked to his spot. He swiped a piece of bacon from Amelia's plate, grinning smugly as he munched on it.

"Whatever, I still get a license. My happiness will not die today." Philip insisted determinately.

Six hours later….

Philip and Natasha sighed happily as they entered the suite.

"Got your license?" Clint asked from the living room.

"No," Philip grumbled. "I have a stupid piece of paper that's my temporary license."

"So you didn't have fun in the land of the DMV?"

"No, I really hate people sometimes." Natasha smirked at Philip's statement as Clint let out a loud laugh.

"I hate to say I told you so," Clint grinned. He barely dodged the pillow Philip sent flying at his head.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay. Of course, the second the semester starts I get sick and couch-ridden. Due to the large amount of medications coursing through my system, I'm hoping this chapter isn't complete and utter crap. I know it's shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out to you. Please let me know what you think. Also, I need ideas because I'm greatly lacking in motivation.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It depresses me greatly.

"We need a break," Clint grumbled as he shuffled out of Amelia's room.

"You want to take a break the week both of your children are bed-ridden with the flu?"

"I really have an aversion to vomit."

"Clearly, you picked a good profession what with the circus and your children and all."

"Tell me about it," he groaned. He dropped heavily onto the couch next to his wife. "How's Philip?"

"He's slathered in Vick's Vapor Rub and is moaning about his discomfort about not being able to breathe through his nose. Amelia?"

"She's down for the count, curled in a ball around her old stuffed animal and buried under about 40 blankets."

"Mom," Philip called from down the hall. His voice sounded rough. Natasha pitched herself off the couch and walked towards her son. She leaned against the doorframe. "I don't feel good."

"I know," she consoled sadly. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, she ran a soothing hand through his hair. Natasha kissed his forehead. "You've still got a bit of a temperature," she concluded.

"I can't breathe through my face," he whined. "Being sick sucks."

"Yeah," she nodded. "How about a story?"

"I'm not five," he pouted. "But, yeah, okay." Natasha shifted to lie down next to him. Philip tucked his head beneath her chin and curled into her side as if he were nothing more than a young child. She kissed his forehead and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Once upon a time," she started. "There were two spies who fell in love."

"I like this story," he murmured tiredly.

"Yeah, me too," she confided as her hand stroked comforting circles on his back.

By the time she finished her story Philip was fast asleep. Clint leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's a damn good story," he whispered. "One day, they'll figure out it's our story."

"Hate to break it to you, Hawk, but our children are sometimes smarter than we would like them to be. They've figured it out already, though Tony might have had something to do with that."

"He always does," Clint mused. Natasha slipped from the bed carefully as not to wake their slumbering son. She leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. "I'll never get tired of seeing that."

"What," she questioned softly. His shirt muffled her words while her long, slender fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You're a fantastic mother, Tasha. I'll never get tired of seeing you in that element." She grinned at his compliment before stretching up to place a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. "Come on, Mrs. Barton. I'll make you some tea."

Clint couldn't help but moan softly as her fingers scratched across his scalp. With his head in her lap, he saw the corners of her mouth quirk upwards in a small smile. She lifted her cup of tea to her lips and continued to draw her nails through his short hair. They sat in relative silence, content and comfortable in one another's presence.

"I forget how much I enjoyed the quiet."

"I blame you for getting them so interested in music. You and your singing," Natasha teased.

"You know you like my singing. Come on, Tasha. Say it. You like my singing."

"I will never admit such things."

"You know you like it. You know you like it." He sang to a random tune.

"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally.

"See, that's as good as gold. I knew you liked it." Clint seemed very smug as he smiled up at her. Her fingers stilled as she rolled her eyes. "No, I lied. You don't like it. Keep doing what you were doing." He tipped his head back and fidgeted a bit until she resumed her actions. He sighed happily.

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"Can't I just make a volcano with baking soda and vinegar like normal students," Amelia whined.

"You're not normal," Stark declared. "Two of your uncles are some of the most well known and brilliant scientists in the world. Another one of your uncles is an actual science experiment, and the other one defies science in its entirety. You cannot just build a volcano. In fact, you could build one of those by yourself when you were seven. It would be an insult to science for you to simply build a volcano."

"What the rambling narcissist means is that we will help you find a more challenging-yet-age-appropriate project for your science fair," Banner interjected without looking up from a freshly printed report.

"We could build a new suit," Tony shouted victoriously.

"Age appropriate," Banner repeated. "Age appropriate, Tony. She's a freshman in high school, not graduating with a doctorate in robotics and engineering."

"What about a new anti-virus?"

"Do you need a dictionary? Age appropriate." Banner finally looked up from his report to glare at his science buddy. "High school freshman. Age fourteen. Not you at fourteen, but an intelligent fourteen."

"Never mind," Amelia sighed. "Sorry, I asked. I'll just go find something to blow up." She slipped out of the lab leaving the two to bicker as she returned to their floor. Dropping heavily into the barstool, she groaned.

"What's with the noise," Clint asked as he popped his head out of the office.

"I need an idea for a science project. I made the mistake of asking Uncle Tony for help."

"Curse of knowledge," Natasha informed her. "He doesn't remember that other people don't have his working knowledge base."

"Yep, sounds about right. Did you have to do science projects, Mom?"

"Umm," the older red head mumbled.

"In Mother Russia, science projects do you," Clint answered. He grunted as a pen knocked forcefully into his jugular. The archer rubbed a palm over his throat as he glared at his wife.

"What," Amelia asked, clearly confused.

"What your idiot father is trying to say is my upbringing wasn't as traditional as yours. I didn't have to do science projects per say."

"Oh, did you take science?"

"Yes, we learned biology, chemistry, physics, computer science, psychology, and basic medicine." Natasha listed off different educational areas, tip-toeing around the fact that each subject focused on the ways to manipulate one's body into a weapon, torture to obtain information, or kill without leaving a trace.

"It doesn't sound like you had a social life when you were a kid." The teenager mused as her fingers traced over random patterns in the marble countertop.

"Not in so many words. So," Natasha scrambled to change the subject. "What are some of your ideas for your science project?"

"I just want to blow something up and call it a day."

"You are your father's daughter," the older woman commented humorously.

"Hey, if I recall, you blow things up as much as I do. Granted usually it's because you shoot a fuel tank or something like that, but still." Clint countered defiantly from the office.

"You have explosive arrowheads built into your quiver. It's not like I carry grenades."

"Seriously, you two," Amelia groaned. "Can someone just give me an idea before the bickering commences?"

"Where would you even put grenades in your cat suit," Clint questioned. "Your argument is invalid."

"Invalid," Natasha asked. "My argument is invalid?"

"Oh for the love of all that is good, I just need an idea. Just one dang idea," Amelia grumbled as she threw her hands in the air exasperatedly. "Hey, wait. All your old arrows, do you keep the ones that don't make it to production?"

"Yes your argument is invalid, and all the old designs are somewhere in the lab on the third floor." Clint swiveled as he engaged in two different conversations simultaneously.

"The one next to the range?" Clint nodded, and Amelia grinned. "Perfect! Thanks!"

"Don't hurt yourself," Natasha called after her daughter. "The arrows didn't make it to production for a reason." She turned her attention back towards her husband. "How can you deem my argument invalid?"

"Got it," Amelia confirmed as she skipped away.

"Simple. I say it's invalid. Thus, your logic fails."

"My logic… Did the Other Guy smash your head in or something in a recent experiment I don't know about?"

"My logic is just fine; thank you." He paused for a second. "You threw a pen at me."

"You're an ass." Clearly, that was evidence enough for the hurtling of such writing utensils to be considered justifiable.

"It's going to bruise," he whined. The archer offered a mock-pout. "Where's your son? Isn't he supposed to be home by now?"

"He's my son now?"

"Yes," Clint answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "When either child does something good or acts like a civilized human being, then said child is OUR child. However, in the case that the child is doing something wrong or is in need of discipline or is generally acting in an annoying, teenager way, then the child is YOUR child."

"Do we know he's doing something wrong?"

"Call it a sixth sense," Clint laughed.

"Hmm," Natasha smirked knowingly. She wandered over to the family calendar adhered to one kitchen wall. It was a color-coordinated mass of scribbles with the random Post-It note stuck hastily on one row or another. "He should be here."

"I got it," he murmured as he fumbled through his pockets for his phone. "Hey. Give us a call. We're just checking in to see where you are." The voicemail was short and sweet. "He's probably at Murphy's," Clint noted. Natasha nodded slightly. "JARVIS, please keep an eye on Amelia and whatever's she's doing with my old arrows."

"Of course, sir. Should I activate Philip's cell phone trace?"

"No, it's okay. Thanks though." Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Hey! Look! It looks like we have a weekend just the two of us," he announced happily. He pointed at the calendar, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overly excited child.

"Really?" Natasha didn't try to keep the shock out of her voice.

"Yes," Clint exclaimed. "Look! Amelia is going to Sarah's lake house for the weekend. They're leaving from school on Friday. Philip is spending all weekend with Murphy because that new video game is coming out Thursday at midnight. When was the last time we had a weekend alone?"

"I honestly don't know the answer to that question."

"Ah," he sighed happily. "A weekend alone—oh, the possibilities are endless. Endless, Tasha, endless."

She laughed as he pretended to swoon. "True, there are an unlimited number of possibilities, but you and I both know we will end up hiding out in one of your nests drinking and fucking."

"You make it sound so romantic," he deadpanned.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you married me because my hopeless romantic side swooned when you chose not to kill me."

"Among other reasons," Clint offered a shit-eating grin. "But you're right. It was the hopeless romantic in you all along." She rolled her eyes dramatically as he teased her. "Come on, you little love bird, let's make dinner."

"Little love bird? Really, Clint," she asked seriously. There was a touch of fondness in her voice though. "Add that to the list of pet names that you are never to use in conjunction with my name. At least stick with our appropriate animals," she groaned as he pouted.

"Little love spider," he mused. "No, that sounds creepy. Little lovebird sounds sweet. I still don't understand your opposition to some of them. I mean dumpling, sugar pie, honey bee, or sweet pea are all cute."

"I should have left your sorry ass in the South when I had the chance. I now understand why they tell you not to feed a stray cat."

"Stick with our appropriate animals," he mocked, throwing her words back at her.

"Fine. I shouldn't have offered the stray bird any food. I let it eat out of my hand once and now it's attached."

"Much better," he grinned as he pulled meat from the fridge. The two continued their usual banter as they went about preparing the meal, working as fluidly in the kitchen as they always did in battle.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I need ideas. Desperately. Please drop a line and let me know what you think as well as any ideas you might have.

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

"Fuck, please tell me that isn't pot," Philip groaned. He stared wide-eyed at his best friend, Murphy, who lounged in a beanbag.

"What? We smoke all the time."

"Yeah! We do in your brother's car or in your attic. Not here where the world's mightiest heroes are over protectively watching every move we make!"

"Like your uncles don't light up a joint every once in awhile. Who hasn't heard the stories about Tony Stark? Plus, green rage monster over there probably uses it to mellow out."

"Jesus, you're going to get me grounded for life." Philip shook his head and focused on finding some good music.

"Wanna smoke or not?"

"I think they're both on base doing training or something, so yeah, why not?" Philip agreed. "WoW or COD?"

"Call of Duty, always."

Grabbing a large bottle of Febreeze, Philip locked the door of his room before dragging a beanbag over to where Murphy was playing with a lighter. He slipped the appropriate disk into the game system and tossed his friend a wireless controller. "Here."

"And here," Murphy said, passing the lit joint.

"Such a bad influence," Philip mocked with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, whatever."

Thirty minutes into the game, Abby and Sophie started knocking on the door. Philip bit back a groan. Murphy didn't bother trying to resist and groaned loudly at the threat of an intrusion of the game.

"Philip!" Abby called loudly.

"What do you want?"

"I need help with my Latin homework. Sophie has a question about her math stuff too."

"I'll help you later. Murphy is here. If you need help now, ask JARVIS or go find Uncle Bruce," Philip yelled back through the door.

"Fine." He sighed in relief and relaxed into the beanbag, the joint hanging from his lips. Murphy laughed at him.

"You make everyone else look bad constantly, you jackass."

"What?" Philip quirked an eyebrow.

"You're a straight-A student who is very teacher's pet, golden boy, athletic and whatever. Then you're also all nice to your family and shit. Jeez, no one can beat you."

"Whatever. I'm smoking."

"Yeah, that's a minor offense compared to some of the shit other idiots our age get into."

"Trust me, if my mother finds out about this shit, minor offense will not be how you describe her mom-mode freak out. Now, if Uncle Steve finds us, he might knock you over the head with his shield because if you think I'm straight-laced, Captain America is like perfection on crack. If he finds us, dude, I'm throwing you under the bus and running away."

"Whatever, let's finish the game. I've got to be home for some family shit at 8."

Amelia and Sarah sat on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly.

"There's nothing good on TV ever," Sarah complained. "Don't they know we want to avoid homework?"

"It's a plot to make us productive. They're all in on it. We're doomed," Amelia deadpanned.

"Speaking of doomed, where are your parents?"

"Subtle transition," the redhead laughed. "They're on business doing something or other somewhere for some amount of time."

"Wow, you're really kept in the loop."

"I'm sure they'd tell me if I asked; I just don't care. When they're out of town, life is just simpler."

"Have you told them about your new boyfriend," Sarah teased.

"You saw him at school today, didn't you?" Sarah nodded. "Then, clearly, no, I haven't told my trigger-happy family about Patrick. I plan on keeping a secret as long as humanly possible."

"What would you do if my parents were actually aware of our lives? I mean you would have to find another excuse for where you're going besides my house. Though one day this will all backfire."

"Stop saying that. It's bad luck."

"That reminds me, did you see Riley's new haircut? Good god, you would think her stylist is blind."

"Why do we care what people's hair looks like," Amelia asked without even glancing at her best friend. She was definitely ready for the cattiness of high school girls to be over and done. She had as much attitude as the next fourteen-year-old girl, but god, it was tiring sometimes.

"I don't know. Everyone else does," Sarah retorted lamely.

"They don't have lives."

"Neither do we. We're sitting on your couch in the middle of the afternoon avoiding assignments."

"Where else would we be? There's not much you can do when you're underage. This is a life. It just takes so much energy to gaggle around and be all passive aggressive. Can't we just be like boys and punch each other once or twice and get over it? This whole backstabbing, gossipy thing is so damn annoying."

"I will never understand how you're as popular as you are," Sarah teased. "You have the exact opposite mindset of a normal teenager."

"I accepted the fact that I will never be normal long ago, and by the way, rebellion is part of the usual mindset for a teenager. I've got that in spades the last time I checked."

"Whatever you say. You're occasionally rebellious. That whole thing with the party and the drinking earlier this year was all Blake. You totally wouldn't have gone if you hadn't been trying to impress him, and you know it. I'm so glad we got rid of him. He was such a tool."

"I've had enough of that form of rebellion for awhile. I'm finally not getting disappointed and disbelieving looks when I talk about having a social life. I'm just fine with my acts of small rebellion like sneaking into movies and telling my parents I'm at your house when I'm at the mall or something. Maybe I'll dye my hair some drastic color."

"Like highlights? What color goes with red hair?"

"Purple," Amelia asked. "I don't know. We could look it up. I'm sure we've got bleach and dye somewhere in this tower. If not, we can run down the street to CVS."

"Alright," Sarah agreed cautiously. "Your parents won't care?"

"It is just hair, and it's not like I'm going to dye my whole head purple. I was just thinking of a streak or two. It won't be too drastic."

"The school is going to kill you if they don't."

"How many years until we get to go to college," Amelia groaned. "Is a little bit of freedom too much to ask for?"

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Having picked up on different observations over the course of a fortnight, Amelia decided to confront her brother one afternoon when their parents were elsewhere. "You've got a girlfriend," she stated as she dropped gracefully onto her brother's bed.

"Hmm," he grumbled noncommittally, not lifting his gaze from his physics textbook.

"Your room smells like shit."

"Yeah, I ran out of Febreeze," he agreed, still not looking up from his book. The teenager made a mental note to switch back to smoking at Murphy's place or start hoarding air freshener. The two boys had been lighting up in his room for about two weeks. Clearly, it was time to air the place out.

"Why? Never mind, I don't care. You have a girlfriend."

"Do I?" Philip turned in his desk chair to give his sister a pointed look.

"Yes, you do. I want to know who she is."

"Your snooping knows no bounds."

"So you admit you have a girlfriend?"

"I admit you're stretching for information."

"What can I say? I'm my mother's daughter," Amelia shrugged. "So the girl?"

"So your boyfriend?" Philip countered. He smirked when Amelia's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, you're not the only one who can spy."

The redheaded teenager schooled her features and glared at her brother. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I don't know what you're referring to either," Philip tipped his head. "Does my room really smell that badly?"

"It smells like a pot den."

"You don't know what a pot den smells like," he retorted. "You're a kid."

"Whatever. This room smells like crap. It's like something crawled under your bed to die. So I know nothing about your girlfriend, and you know nothing about my boyfriend."

"Sounds fair, so long as the kid knows if he hurts you, I kill him."

"It goes the same way for the bimbo."

"She's not a bimbo, 'Melia."

"Fine, fine. Whatever. I'll let you get back to your nerd book. You might want to find some air freshener or something before the parentals return." She slipped off the bed and walked into the hallway.

"When are they supposed to be back," he shouted after his sister's retreating form.

"Hell if I know," she responded. "Eventually?"

"Thanks. That's so helpful," Philip deadpanned sarcastically. "So damn helpful."

"I'm going down to the gym. Want to spar?"

"Yeah, why not? It's not like I'm going to get this done anytime soon anyway. Let me change." She nodded and walked to her room to change as well. When they got downstairs to the gym, Amelia called for her playlist. Philip didn't object and they fell into a familiar rhythm of attack and defend. It was an interesting scene to watch as each child's fighting style had morphed into a mixture of their parents' styles with a few personal touches. They went for an hour until Amelia tapped out.

"You're getting better," Philip congratulated, offering his hand to help her off the mat. "The way you're getting your gymnastics moves in there is pretty cool too. That was a new one."

"Thanks," she panted. She tossed him a water bottle from the fridge in the corner. "One day, I'll floor you."

"You've floored me before."

"Yeah, but one day, I'll consistently floor you."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Come on. We've procrastinated enough. We've both got homework and shit to do."

"Party pooper," she teased, sending a joking elbow into his side as the elevator appeared.

"That's the first age-appropriate thing I've heard you say since you were about ten," he mocked.

"It's not my fault I seemed to have absorbed the personality and vernacular of Uncle Tony."

"In other words, you cuss like a sailor."

"Oh, golden boy, we all have our vices." He threw his hands in the air dramatically as he gave up on the conversation. He shook his head as he waded into his room and instructed her to do her homework before closing the door.

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"Mom," Philip asked timidly as he leaned against the doorframe of the office.

"Yeah?" She looked up from the file in front of her and smiled softly at him. Her green eyes took in his appearance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "I just wanted to see how your day was."

"It was fine. How was school?"

"It was good. I got an acceptance letter."

"That's great," she smiled brightly at him. "Which college?"

"Not a college, per say," Philip responded. He stared steadily at the ground.

"Acceptance to what?"

"SHIELD," he mumbled.

"SHIELD," she repeated slowly. The ex-agent swallowed visibly. "Philip," Natasha sighed. "Do you know what SHIELD does?"

"I've got an idea."

"You need to know before you dive into a career with SHIELD. Regardless of your choice, you need a degree, Philip. You need something besides a specific skill set to fall back on."

"You have that specific skill set and you're just fine. Dad does too!" He countered.

"Philip, it's a very different lifestyle than the one you know. It's a very different lifestyle from the one you think you know about what your father and I used to do."

"Still do. You still train agents to do all of that. You've been training me since I was little. I could be a good agent!"

"I don't doubt that," Natasha agreed sadly. "I don't doubt that at all. Philip, you're successful at everything you set your mind to."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is," she paused, grasping for words. "The problem is you're my son, and that's not the life I want for you."

"Then why have you been training me for all these years?" The teenager was getting aggravated. He didn't understand why his mother wasn't being more supportive of his possible plan.

"You think we trained you and your sister to turn you into agents," Natasha gaped at him. His words cut her to the core. It reminded her too much of her own upbringing, and it killed her that her son thought that's why she taught him about her weapons and fighting patterns. Philip looked guiltily at the floor. He knew how his words sounded and regretted them as soon as he said them. "Philip, is that what you think?"

He shook his head. "I just," he stuttered. "I could be good at it," Philip finished lamely.

Natasha smiled sadly at him. Her heart ached in her chest at her son's words, and she needed something to soothe the pain. "We'll talk about this a little later. I've got to finish these plans in the next hour."

Her son fidgeted with his hands while nodding slowly. "Okay. I'm sorry," he murmured. Closing the office door behind him, he thumped his head against the wall. "Well that could have gone better," he whispered to himself. "That could have gone a whole hell of a lot better." It had been four or five days since he last sparred with Amelia. He stomped down the hall and knocked on her door. "Hey, you busy?"

"Seeing as I love chemistry oh-so-much," she mocked. "What's up?" She turned in her chair to stare at the open door.

"I need to let off some steam. I need a sparring partner."

"I've got a test tomorrow, or I would," she rejected. "Uncle Steve should be down there about now."

"Yeah, getting pummeled by the nation's first superhero sounds like a good pastime," Philip mused sarcastically. "Actually, it just might fit the bill. Good luck with your studying stuff, 'Melia."

His sister was right, and Rogers rhythmically punched a large bag hanging from a chain. "Uncle Steve, need a partner," Philip asked. He could feel the cogs in his uncle's brain churning. "I'd like to spar, and Amelia is busy prepping for a test."

"Don't you usually spar with your parents?"

"I don't know where my dad is."

"And your mom," Steve prompted.

"I said something stupid to her and I feel bad. I just want to work it off."

"Alright, son. We'll go a few rounds. Warm up," the older man instructed. Philip nodded and immediately started stretching.

Upstairs, Clint threw his duffel into the hall closet as he walked into the foyer of their suite. "I'm home," he called. He was met with silence. Glancing down the hall housing his children's rooms, he noted an open door. "Hey, darling," Clint greeted his daughter.

"Hey, Daddy," she turned and smiled at him.

"How was school?"

"Good; I've got a test tomorrow."

"I'll leave you to it then." He walked over to her desk and kissed her temple. "Good luck. Dinner in about an hour, okay?" She nodded and he retreated back down the hall. The archer glanced briefly into Philip's darkened room before making his way towards the office. He knocked on the door as he opened it. "Hey, Tasha."

"How was your day?" She didn't look up from her files. While her attention seemed to be focused on the desk, her eyes were unseeing. She focused on Philip's question as it replayed itself in an endless loop through her mind. His gray, stormy eyes raked over her posture.

"Tasha," he murmured softly as he leaned against the corner of the desk. Clint closed the file and slipped it on top of the appropriate pile. "Tash, what's wrong?"

"How was your day," she repeated. Her eyes never left the desk where the file had previously resided.

"Lots of new trainees that need lots of help if they want to survive basic missions," he responded. He perched on the edge of the desk, gently pulling her to her feet with his grip on her wrist. She leaned into his chest, her head tucking against his neck. She breathed deeply, giving into the need for comfort, as her arms hugged his torso. Clint held her tightly and waited.

"Our son wants to be one of those trainees. He thinks I trained him, so he would become an agent." Natasha's words were somewhat muted by the solid presence of Clint's chest against her face.

"He didn't mean that, Tasha."

"Trained him to be an agent," she repeated. The pain at the accusation was evident in her words and in her tone. "That would make me no better than my trainers."

"You know that's not true. We taught them what we know. You taught them what you know without all the blood and loss of innocence. We taught them to fight for defense purposes and to encourage them to remain active. We taught them to shoot because it's what we know. They both expressed interest in learning our weapons of choice. They grew up around it. It was bound to happen. That, by no means, makes you like your trainers, Tasha. You love our children like nothing else in this world. You would move heaven and earth to protect them. You're a parent, not a trainer, not a handler."

She nodded against his chest, absorbing his words. Clint kissed her temple. "You're a good mother, Tasha. You're absolutely nothing like the people who created you."

"It still hurt," she admitted quietly. He nodded knowingly and tightened his arms around her, offering comfort without bringing any attention to her vulnerability. She was grateful for that and relaxed into his chest.

"I want macaroni and cheese for dinner," he mumbled into her hair.

"You're such a child," she laughed.

"That I am," he agreed. "You love me anyway."

"That I do, bird boy. Can't figure out why sometimes, but whatever," she mocked.

"I love you too, Tash."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who left reviews! I still need ideas. Desperately. Please drop a line and let me know what you think as well as any ideas you might have. Banner's comment in the middle is borrowed from the tumblr about Notes from the Director. It was too funny not to put in.

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You want me to fake some sort of emergency to get Mom and Dad out of the tower, so you can bring your girlfriend over here. Can't you screw around at her place?" Amelia asked, a hand running through her loose red curls.

"We aren't screwing around, 'Melia. She's getting pissed that I never invite her over. I can't put it off much longer before she makes a big deal about it." He argued as he kicked his feet up to rest them on his bed.

"So just invite her over? You're the golden boy. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You and I both know the worst that could happen. And knowing how things in this house work, the afternoon I invite her over is the afternoon that Thor appears in full-battle gear with Jane thrown over his shoulder and Uncle Tony decides to blow up one of the labs and Uncle Bruce accidentally goes Hulk and Fury appears because Doom Bots are taking over the world… again."

"Well your worst case scenario has nothing to do with Mom or Dad, so you don't need me then," Amelia insisted as she started to slide out of the beanbag.

"Come on, Amelia. Please! You know Dad will do something heinously ridiculous like suggest karaoke night or, heaven forbid, start dancing around the suite. He might also start testing new arrows and accidentally shoot Leila with a poison-tipped arrowhead. Mom will glare at her menacingly until Leila books it and wants to join the Witness Protection Program."

"They aren't that bad," she laughed, though she could see it all playing out in similar fashion in her head. Philip gave her a pointed look. "Okay, maybe all together they are, but she's going to have to meet our crazy-ass, dysfunctional family at some point or another. Might as well get it over with," she suggested.

"I'll get you tickets to that concert you want to go to. I'll go with you too, so Mom and Dad let you go without a chaperone. I'll chill and be far away from you unless you need something. Please, 'Melia. Get them out of the house for the afternoon."

"What do you expect me to do that would get both of them somewhere for an extended period of time?"

"I don't know! Can't your conniving mind think of something?"

"Conniving," Amelia asked with a laugh. "Really, Philip? I'm conniving?"

"Don't give me that look. You know it fits. Think of something," he begged.

"Okay, there's a dance recital next week. Mrs. Cathy asked if I wanted to be in the show, and I said no. I'll call her and see if she can put me in last minute for a solo. That could score you about two hours, but probably no more than that."

"You've got a dance prepared," he asked skeptically.

"I'm my mother's daughter. I'll improvise."

"Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah, I want those Angels & Airwaves tickets. As soon as I get the a-okay that I'm in the dance line-up, I'll let you know, so you can invite Leila over."

"I knew little sisters were good for something," he teased.

"Ha, you're so funny. You should put that on your college applications."

"I've already finished them all. I'm just waiting for letters."

"You told Mom you want to work at SHIELD," Amelia asked, leaning against the desk.

"Yeah, it went about as well as I thought it would, especially when I said she trained us to make us agents." He shrugged and looked shamefaced.

"Damn, that's harsh coming from the golden boy."

"Can you stop calling me that? I'm not the golden boy."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. "What'd she say?"

"Mom wants me to get a degree before going to SHIELD, if I choose to do that. She doesn't seem to thrilled with the opportunity though."

"Philip, come on. Can you blame her? What parent wants her kid to willingly choose a career that turns you into a loner and puts you in direct danger while instructing you to kill people? Uncle Bruce said Mom and Dad used to go on missions for months at a time. They couldn't talk to anyone that would blow their mission cover. It sounds like a harsh life."

He grimaced, dropping his head to the back of his chair with a groan.

"You know I have a point, Philip."

"You know I hate when you have a point," he countered.

"What's your other plan?"

"College in general to get a traditional four-year degree in something or other."

"Sounds like you've got a really solid and well-thought-out back up plan there," she mocked. "I'll let you know about the recital," she said as she knocked the doorframe on her way out.

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"Man, she's not here. She's late, and I only have so much time before the whole tower erupts with the goddamn Avengers," Philip groaned into his phone.

"Chill, dude. Smoke a little. You'll be fine." Murphy suggested.

"Have I ever told you how useless your suggestions are?"

"Whatever. Don't smoke. Just stop panicking. Leila will show up, and you'll have enough time to hang out, watch a movie or something, and then get her out before Robin Hood and Spidey reappear."

"One day, my parents are going to hear you calling them those nicknames and I will not be responsible for them physically injuring you." Philip countered as he dropped heavily onto the couch.

"They still haven't found out about the weed we smoke in your room all the fucking time. And, it's not like I have a death wish. I wouldn't say it to their faces."

"Whatever. Where is she? Why does it take so long for her to get ready? It's just going to be the two of us. Can't she just show up in whatever?"

Murphy smirked into his phone. "That's totally not how girls work. Text her or something."

"Yeah, okay. Bye."

"Let me know when she figures out your family is fucking crazy."

"Thanks," Philip deadpanned. "That's really helpful. Bye now." He ended the call with a more-violent-than-necessary finger jab. He sent a text to his girlfriend before resuming his pacing.

He sighed in relief when JARVIS told him Leila was coming up the elevator. Philip glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time he had left before his parents were due back. Given that there was only a little over an hour in his original two-hour limit, he texted Amelia and begged her to have them all go out for dinner or something to stall. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and opened the door before pulling his girlfriend into a hug.

"Wow, this is amazing." Leila mumbled in awe as Philip gave her a quick tour. They were standing on the deck Stark installed on the roof when the billionaire realized how much Clint enjoyed being high in the sky. Philip stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. She leaned back into him and admired the skyline. Tipping her head to look back at him, she grinned. "The view is breathtaking."

"Yeah," he agreed. "My uncle built it for my dad. He likes to climb around and find the best vantage points. He used to carry me as he climbed, so that I could see the stars with him."

"That's so sweet. What about your mom?"

"What about her?"

"If the watching the stars is your thing with your dad, what's your thing with your mom?"

"Languages and weapons, I guess. It's been a long time since I looked at the stars with my dad. That was really only when I was a kid."

"What's it like growing up here," she asked. "With these people," Leila added as an afterthought.

"I don't know any differently. Want to go watch a movie?" She nodded her consent and smiled sweetly at him when he took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and led her back into the tower.

They curled up on the couch in the living room, and she requested _The Sweetest Thing_, which JARVIS immediately streamed from the installed library. Leila grinned in awe of the technology. Philip thanked the AI. The two shifted on the couch to get comfortable as the previews rolled. He leaned against one armrest with his legs stretched out along the length of the couch as she lied on her side, her back flush against the back cushions, with her head resting on his shoulder. Her left hand traced random patterns along his chest.

It wasn't long before Philip was distracted from the movie by Leila's lips on his neck. Shifting his head, he leaned to meet her lips.

It proved to be very distracting, indeed, until the suite door opened somewhat suddenly. Clint and Natasha froze, focusing on the teenagers on the couch, as Amelia tried to muffle her laughter behind her hand. Philip jumped up, sending Leila flying back into the couch cushions, as he scrambled to find his shirt. A bright red color descended on his face as he grimaced. Unassociated laughter from his uncles drifted into the open space as they all made their way in from the elevator.

Steve nearly walked into Natasha in shock. Stark grinned wildly. Pepper stifled a smirk. Bruce waited patiently for the other shoe to drop.

As usual, Stark needed the first (and last) word. "You seem to be missing a few articles of clothing there, Philip." Pepper reached behind him and smacked his head. "What," Tony shrieked. "I was just stating the obvious."

"Don't embarrass him anymore," Pepper scolded.

Leila, having pulled her shirt and shorts back on, took a deep breath before walking to stand in front of Natasha and Clint. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Barton," she greeted. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Leila."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," Clint said. "I take it you go to Lincoln as well?"

"Yes, sir. Philip and I have a lot of classes together."

At the sound of his name, Philip stumbled forward, still shirtless. "She's my girlfriend." He did his best to ignore Stark's deep whistle, though he did smirk at the sound of his aunt smacking his uncle again. "We were watching a movie."

"Mhmm," Amelia hummed. "That's exactly what it looked like."

"Shut up," he grumbled. "You couldn't have sent a warning text or something?"

"Oh, I did. I sent six actually, but … uh… it looks like you were a bit preoccupied with a lapful of your girlfriend," she snickered.

"Okay, enough Amelia. Go," Clint paused. "Somewhere else," he finished lamely. She relocated to the kitchen, where she could perch on a barstool and still see and hear the whole show.

"Leila, these are my uncles and aunt: Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Pepper."

"It's nice to meet you all. I apologize for the circumstances," she said graciously.

"Dad," one of the twins yelled as the elevator dinged its arrival on the floor. "She took my shirt!" Both girls marched into the living room. "Ha," Abby exclaimed. "I told you he had a girlfriend. You owe me ten bucks."

"You owe me my shirt."

"You'll get your shirt when I get my money."

"Mom," Sophie shouted. "Make her give me my shirt back. She stole it."

"And those are my cousins, Abby and Sophie," Philip introduced. "It's like a freaking family reunion," he grumbled under his breath. "Fantastic."

"Thor has arrived. Numerous kitchen appliances were set on fire as he attempted to make PopTarts, as Asgard doesn't have PopTarts. The fire has been extinguished," JARVIS reported.

"Really," Philip groaned. "Is this happening?" He dropped his head dramatically to Leila's shoulder. As he realized whom he was touching, he lifted his head immediately and took two steps away from her, shooting his parents a guilty smile.

"Greetings," Thor boomed. "As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a gathering of mine closest friends. Hello!"

"Hey, Pikachu," Tony greeted. "You set fire to my goddamn appliances… again! Why?"

"The toaster refused to produce my PopTarts quickly. It then scalded me with its grids of metal," the demi-god defended.

"How many times have I told you not to stick your hand in the toaster? Of course it burned you. You don't touch the metal part. You push up the little lever and then it lifts your PopTarts out of the toaster," Tony grumbled with agitation. Leila looked at Philip with wide, bewildered eyes. "Did you break my espresso machine?" Thor frowned. "Damnit. That was a new one. Fury destroyed my other one."

"In Fury's defense," Banner noted. "You bribed all the new agents to respond to him with the phrase 'Ay, Ay, matey'."

"Tony," Pepper shouted. "You didn't?"

"He has an eye patch. It is fair game to refer to him as a pirate if he chooses not to explain what he keeps behind the patch," Tony defended, his arms crossed over his chest petulantly.

"He is not a pirate," Pepper yelled. "He's the director of an intelligence agency."

"Mom, make her give me my shirt back." Sophie demanded angrily.

"Uncle Steve," Abby asked. "I need help with a history report, and since you were there, I figured you could help."

"Genetically engineered superhero from World War II who was frozen in the ice for 70 years," Philip explained in a hushed whisper to Leila, who looked completely baffled by the people around her.

Steve nodded and ushered Abby from the room with a soft and polite nod. "It was nice to meet you, ma'am." Leila nodded and waved goodbye.

"Uncle Thor, this is Leila, my girlfriend," Philip introduced.

"Oh how joyous. Your betrothed," Thor boomed, shaking her very small hand in his large ones.

"No, no," Banner interrupted. "Not betrothed, just dating. Remember we talked about dating?"

"Ah, yes," Thor said. "My apologies. Midgardian terminology often perplexes me as language in Asgard is much different." Leila nodded.

Philip leaned forward again to offer an explanation. "Asgard is another planet. He's the god of thunder and lightening, protector of Earth, also known as Midgard to Asgardians."

"Oh," she mumbled. "They don't tell you that in the news."

"Come on. Let's get you some PopTarts," Bruce suggested. He ushered Thor from the room with a nod and a gentle smile. Pepper excused herself too to deal with the stolen shirt dilemma. Sophie stomped after her.

"I apologize for all the insanity," the strawberry blonde woman said as she left the room. Again, Leila nodded, completely overwhelmed.

"I'll just go talk to Happy and get him to drive her home," Philip said. He stumbled over to the living room floor, slipped his shirt over his head, before trying to drag Leila from the room.

"It was nice to meet you," Natasha called after the fleeing figures. She turned to her daughter. "You were covering for him?" Amelia swallowed.

"Not in so many words," she mumbled. Her fingers pulled at the elastic tie holding her red curls up. Clint lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Well, sort of. He wanted some time alone with her because all of you guys are absolutely insane. He didn't want to introduce her yet."

"We're not insane," Clint denied. A glint of a smile danced across Natasha's lips. "We aren't!"

"Dad, you're the best marksman in the world married and partnered to Russia's best assassin, and the two of you make up one third of a team of ragtag superheroes, who are defined as Earth's Mightiest Heroes. If that doesn't classify you as insane, you used to live in a circus. Your boss is a one-eyed man who drives a flying ship and commands people to kill other people. Insane is putting it lightly."

Natasha snorted as she laughed, covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle the escaped emotion. Clint looked slightly offended. "I am not crazy," he insisted.

"You just can't argue with a crazy person. They can't see logic," Amelia teased. "Anyway, he didn't want Leila exposed to all the absurdity in this tower at once. Clearly, that plan massively backfired, and it will be a miracle if she doesn't run for the hills."

"Teenagers," Clint muttered.

"What? She was just introduced to a demi-god from a plant she didn't know existed, a living legend, our affable genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist, and a green rage monster in his ultra-zen form. On top of that, she got to meet the CEO of one of the most powerful companies in the world, two annoying and unbelievably identical twins, and her boyfriend's parents. All after, having to quickly get dressed after being walked in on by her boyfriend's whole entire family. I would bet money that she's halfway around the world by now."

"So your dance was just to get us out of the house," Natasha asked, although she knew the answer to the question.

"Mrs. Cathy asked awhile ago if I wanted to dance in it, and I declined. She likes me for whatever reason, and she let me add in last minute. Philip owes me Angels & Airwaves tickets, and before you object," Amelia continued rapidly. "He said he was going with me, so you don't have to freak out and go all overprotective-parental-unit on me. Golden boy will be accompanying me to the concert."

"Our kids have so much faith in our ability to be flexible and understanding," Clint said to Natasha. She just shrugged with a knowing smile.

"Last minute or not, your dance was great," Natasha complimented. "Very well-executed," she continued. "You looked very graceful and beautiful."

"Thanks, Mom," Amelia blushed. It was rare her mother was that open with sentiments. "I'm going to go work on homework. Love you," she called over her shoulder in Russian as she slipped off the barstool and walked towards her room.

When she was out-of-ear shot, Clint leaned against the sturdy island and groaned. "I really don't want to have to buy my son condoms. I am too young for grandchildren."

"Why would you buy him condoms? Don't do that," Natasha grumbled. "Don't encourage it. Let him keep 'blowing his hair' or 'taking a bath' like he's been doing for years. He doesn't need a companion for that activity."

"Well, should we talk to him?"

It was Natasha's turn to groan. "The-birds-and-the-bees conversation was awkward enough, don't you think? I'm pretty sure Steve has convinced him that cooties exist."

"It can't hurt, Tasha."

"How do you start that conversation with your child? I can't exactly tell him I will castrate him if he gets a girl pregnant anytime in the near future, can I?"

"No, Tasha." He paused. "Well, maybe you can. Hell if I know. I never had that conversation. The circus isn't exactly filled with great male role models. We should talk to him though." Natasha groaned quietly again. "We also need to talk about his SHIELD career."

"His proposed SHIELD career, Clint," Natasha corrected. "Proposed," she emphasized.

"Semantics, Tash. We need to talk about it- you and me as well as the three of us. You can't avoid this conversation forever." She quirked her eyebrows as if to say challenge accepted. He shook his head with a groan, admitting to himself that he would have to pull the conversation from her sooner or later.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews. Special shout outs to OwlMay and Totenkinder Madchen, who gave me a slew of ideas that I will be incorporating over the next few chapters. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. As always, please let me know what you think. Reviews give me motivation, which means faster updates. Hint hint. Cough cough. Nudge nudge. In other words, I'm shamelessly begging for reviews because they make me happy.

Author's Note: The information about an added character is found on Comic Vine. I've added a little bit to his history; call it writer's freedom, but if you want to look him up, you can just google his name.

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

"We need to come up with a signal or some shit, so our fucking family doesn't terrify the living shit out of my girlfriend."

"I'm surprised she's still your girlfriend after all of that," Amelia laughed, throwing her head back.

"Thanks. You're not helpful," Philip deadpanned.

"I didn't come here to help. I came here to mock."

"You suck."

"You love me," she countered with another chuckle. "Anyway, there is a sign. It's called a text message, and in my defense, I texted you a lot before we all traipsed in on your sex parade."

"I wasn't," Philip blushed as he squabbled. "We weren't…"

"Whatever. That's what it looked like. I'm surprised Mom didn't jump down your throat. Last time I checked, she seems to like the living room upholstery to remain unstained by certain bodily fluids."

"Shut up."

"I wonder if she was just in shock or something," Amelia debated aloud.

"Yeah, right," he drawled slowly. "The infamous Black Widow is stunned into silence by the sight of her son necking on a couch."

"If I recall, I wasn't exactly silent. I did talk to the girl." Philip and Amelia jumped at the sound of Natasha's voice in the doorway. "We want you to invite her over again. You will both remain clothed this time though." Her son blushed furiously.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he murmured.

"Are you? Or are you sorry we walked in?"

"Probably the second one," Philip replied. "You want me to bring her back?"

"Yes," Natasha replied simply.

"Why?"

"Don't fall for it, Philip. They just want to lure her to a very painful death or something," Amelia teased from the beanbag.

"Shut up," he grumbled again. "She isn't right, is she, Mom?" Natasha laughed, but offered no verbal response.

"I told you. She's plotting. That specific laughter is never ever a good thing," Amelia continued. "Ever," she emphasized.

"Mom," Philip whined.

"No, we're not going to kill her. We're going to have dinner and get to know each other."

"Oh," he nodded. "That might actually be worse than you both planning her murder." Natasha lifted an inquisitive eyebrow at her son's comment. "It's the plot for a really bad movie. The son brings his girlfriend over for a nice family dinner at the home of two of the world's most notorious assassins."

"Nothing could possibly be worse than how Leila met them all the first time, so really, what have you got to lose," Amelia asked with a half-hearted shrug.

"Umm well let's see. I could lose her. She was only in the same room with them for ten minutes. A whole meal and she just might run for the hills, especially since they don't realize how crazy they are." Philip gestured wildly at his mother as he felt his frustrations grow.

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not in the room. I am standing right here," Natasha reminded. "You want a normal life; that's fine. That, however, does not give you the right to feel ashamed of your family. We're your only constant in this world or any other. Ask her when she's available for dinner. If you don't, I'll call her and ask her myself." She spoke sternly before leaving the room.

"Damn, boy. You have an amazing talent for getting your foot stuck in your mouth," Amelia teased. Philip thumped his head to his desk in response.

"Dinner is going to suck," he groaned.

"Which one? The one tonight where Mom will still be quietly irritated with you or the one in the near future when your normal girlfriend will be exposed to the inquisition? Personally, I think both are going to be just amazing. I can't wait."

"Shut up, and get out. I've got shit to do," Philip grumbled.

"Yes, I'm sure you've got to find your balls somewhere around here, so you can invite your girlfriend to her death." Philip threw a pen at her. She caught it out of the air with a laugh as she lifted herself out of the beanbag. Despite the usual mocking nature of their relationship, Amelia couldn't help giving him a little encouragement. "Look at it this way. She met everyone at once, and she's still with you. For whatever reason, her feelings for you are stronger than her feelings of being overwhelmed by all the insanity related to you. They just want to get to know her. It won't be that bad."

Philip sighed in relief when his sister left, closing the door behind her. He looked around for his phone, clicking through his password and calling one of his speed dials.

"Fuck all of this shit," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I need to smoke."

"I'll be there in twenty," Murphy answered gruffly before hanging up. Philip grumbled something, knowing his best friend well enough to know that twenty minutes meant at least forty. He asked JARVIS if anyone was in the range for target practice. When the AI responded, Philip practically ran downstairs to let off a few rounds.

Slipping on his headphones, he pulled a Sig from the armory. Noting that was his mother's weapon of choice, Philip slipped it back into its spot before blindly reaching for another gun. He paused and glanced at one of the many bows in the system. He grabbed it before he could analyze the last time he had shot one. Standing mid-floor, the teenager called for the archery targets instead and watched anxiously as the system altered the set up of the room for him.

He clicked through his playlist, finding one just loud enough to help him zone out of one mentality and into the next. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, he shifted his body into a stance that was wholly natural to his being, regardless of the time lapse since his last archery session. One arrow after another steadily hit the target, each shot nearly a perfect hit. His muscles ached, but his posture and accuracy never faltered. He reached back for another arrow and surprisingly found his quiver empty. Dropping his left arm, the bow fell to his side as he surveyed the target. As he stomped down to recollect his arrows, he noticed unhappily that his brain was more clouded than it was.

"Your friend has arrived," JARVIS announced sounding somewhat displeased. Philip could just hear the AI over his music.

"Send him down please."

"Other individuals are not allowed in any of the training facilities."

"I'm not going to let him shoot himself in the foot or anything moronic like that. Come on, JARVIS." The AI appeased the teenager, and soon, Murphy was stumbling through the door.

"Jesus, this place is huge."

"You've been here a million times," Philip pointed out.

"I walk in and the elevator sends me to your floor. Dude, is that a closet of guns?"

"Yeah, don't touch anything. You're already not supposed to be in here."

"So why are we here?"

"I want to shoot and smoke," Philip responded. "JARVIS, please kill all recording devices in the room, and override the protocol that demands you tell Uncle Tony when such devices are turned off."

"This is probably the worst idea you've ever had," Murphy said, even as he pulled out a bag from his backpack. "I'm in."

"Figured you would. JARVIS, could you turn on the playlist I was listening to earlier through the stereo system for this room?" When the AI responded affirmatively, Philip offered his thanks. He lifted his bow and fell back into the appropriate stance, firing off arrows rapidly, as he waited for Murphy to fill the bowl on the pipe. "Make sure you stay behind me," he instructed.

"Is there recording shit in your room," Murphy asked before he held a lighter to the bowl and inhaled, filling his lungs with smoke.

"None in our suite at all. JARVIS can hear us and respond to whatever, but anything like cameras or audio recording isn't there. Uncle Bruce told me that my mom and dad destroyed all that shit when they moved in before I was born. Uncle Tony had the whole place wired, so he could see what was happening at all times. My parents have a thing for their privacy."

"They picked an interesting place to live then. Here," Murphy offered him the lit pipe.

"Hmm," Philip noised in slight agreement. "It's a long story." He loosed an arrow before dropping the bow to his side. Fingering the holes on either side of the pipe, he inhaled the weed's smoke, holding it in his lungs, before blowing it casually from his lips. The pattern continued as such for a good period of time. Murphy sat on the ground within arm's reach of Philip, so the bowl could be passed between the two.

"Does the weapons closet have a fridge? I'm so fucking hungry. How do you even shoot an arrow? Dude," he paused. "That's why Stark calls your dad Robin Hood. I just got that. Sweet," Murphy drawled. "Robin Hood wears tights. Does your dad wear tights when he's off avenging?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't wear tights ever." Clint answered from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

"Fuck, dude. I told you this was a bad idea," Murphy mumbled. Philip's eyes widened as he let his stance slacken. "I'm gonna go."

"Good plan." The boy practically ran from the building, grabbing his backpack and racing for the elevator. Philip stood frozen to his spot. The silence ticked by slowly. Clint watched his son carefully. "Drugs and weapons," he asked. "Really, Philip? What the fuck are you thinking?" The teenager shrugged lamely. "I'm all for giving you your space, but now you've crossed a line. Now I need answers. What is going through your head right now?"

"I should have remembered to get JARVIS to lock the door," he mumbled in response. Philip slapped a hand over his own mouth. He couldn't believe he just said that out loud.

"JARVIS, could you please ask Natasha to join us down here," Clint asked the omnipresent AI. Philip audibly groaned. "Just for your future reference," he added, "SHIELD has a very strict no-drugs policy. It's a 'one-time offense and you're out' kind of program. As a new recruit, they will test your hair, and after finding illegal drug usage, they will not allow you to continue with the recruitment program. You're going to need a back-up plan."

"She says she is busy at the moment," the AI informed the archer.

"It's urgent. You can turn the recording devices back on and shut off the music as well. Do you know why SHIELD is so strict on drugs, Philip?" The teenager stared resolutely at the floor. "No? Nock an arrow." When his son looked at him with confusion in his eyes, he repeated the command. Philip did as he was told. "Take aim, and loose the arrow." Philip's left arm wavered as his diluted mind struggled to pinpoint the target's bulls-eye. Finally, he released the arrow and noted glumly the miss.

"Do it again," Clint demanded. "In a perfect world, you make one shot, and you have a clean exit strategy with complete intel. That's not how the field is, ever. Even by-the-book missions get messy, especially when the agents add a volatile variable like drugs. In the field, Philip, if your brain is foggy, you die; your team dies. It's harsh, yes, but you wanted that life and you need to know. Nock another arrow. You will nock until you hit a bulls-eye. Realize how hard it is to complete a mission or even defend yourself against enemy forces if you can't clear your mind enough to hit a simple foam target as opposed to a moving human who likely has years of training."

Five arrows in, Philip dropped his bow. "Fuck this," he mumbled under his breath. "I get it," he said louder, addressing his father. "I get it. Drugs are bad. Can you just ground me or something already?"

His parents shared a look, a conversation passing silently between them. "Drugs cannot be your coping mechanism for when things turn to shit," Clint said finally. "I get it, Philip. Trust me. I get it. You don't want to talk about what bothers you; that's just fine, but you need to find appropriate methods of dealing with it, whatever it is. You're grounded for three weeks- no social calendar, no TV, no phone, computer-limited to school work."

"Three weeks," he gaped. "That's not fair! It was just weed! Like the two of you haven't smoked before," Philip grumbled.

"It's not just weed." Natasha spoke, her words deadly calm. "You endangered yourself, as well as your friend, by using drugs and using weapons."

"I'm not stupid enough to shoot myself with an arrow. I'm not demented enough to shoot my best friend either." He defended, his arms gesturing wildly.

"You were stupid enough to smoke in the first place. You were stupid enough to suggest smoking here in a room filled with easily accessible weaponry. You were stupid enough to pick up one of those weapons while high, and you were stupid enough to have target practice while high." Clint argued back.

"We're not having this argument with you," Natasha continued calmly. "You will be grounded for three weeks with all of the stipulations your father listed. Also, you are banned from using any weaponry of any form for an undefined period until we are sure you understand the damage of weapons in inappropriate hands. You will also volunteer for a community for those who are affected by their own drug usage. You clearly don't understand how serious it is." She fixed their son with a glare. He knew better than to argue.

"Yes ma'am," he answered roughly. "Can I go now?"

"Phone," Natasha said, stretching her hand out to accept the device. "Pick up your arrows. Check the bow and return it to its hold if it's in proper condition. Then you can go to your room, where you will stay until we call you for dinner." Philip moved quickly, obviously wanting to be out of the presence of his parents.

It wasn't more than three minutes before he was retreating to his room, leaving Natasha and Clint alone in the range.

"Our children are going to be the death of me," he grunted.

"Well, it's about to get worse." She answered. In response to Clint's raised eyebrow, she said, "Amelia has a new boyfriend." The archer groaned loudly and fought the urge to grab the bow and just shoot the boy without any more information. "Crimson Dynamo ring a bell," she asked her husband.

Clint closed his eyes, scanning through names and dates, before opening them to meet her gaze. "Yuri Petrovitch," he murmured. "What about him?"

"What do you remember about him," she asked warily.

"Son of Ivan Petrovitch, the man who pulled you from the fire and into the Red Room. He was taken by a Russian man… Bruskin, I think… after his mother was killed. He was brainwashed to be blindly loyal to Russia, like you were. He was assigned to capture three of Russia's most important defectors – you, his father, and Bruskin- and return them to Russia. I thought you killed him."

"I thought I killed him, but apparently, when he returned to Russia empty handed, having killed two of his three marks, he was stripped of his armor and sent to a Siberian work camp."

"Okay. What about him though?" Clint started to get nervous.

"Yuri Petrovitch, now goes by the name George Petrol, escaped the Siberian camp and fell off the grid."

"Recently? Is he back for you?"

"Twenty two years ago," she answered. "From what I can tell, he doesn't know we live in the same city."

"What," Clint stammered.

"Amelia's new boyfriend is Yuri Petrovitch's son, Patrick Petrol."

"I'm sorry." He lifted his hand to scrub roughly at his face. "Let me get this straight. Our daughter is dating the son of a man, who for all extensive purposes is your archenemy." Natasha nodded. "I did not see that coming." He paused again. "Well holy fuck. What's the social protocol for that shit storm?"


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: So it's been awhile since I updated… I apologize, but real life occasionally takes precedent to my writing sadly. That being said, for those of you who are still with me, I appreciate the support. Please let me know what you think of this chapter or about ideas you would like to see incorporated.

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Bruce laughed.

He couldn't help but laugh. The situation was beyond abnormal, even for them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Continue," he encouraged. "Just ignore me."

"So George Petrol is Yuri Petrovitch, who is Crimson Dynamo?" Pepper asked as she tried to figure out the degrees of separation. "And Amelia is dating Petrol's son?" Natasha nodded and Bruce let out another bark of laughter.

"I'm sorry. I really am. It's just this situation is so remarkably absurd."

"So does Petrol know that you're here? Or does he know who Amelia is? Or what? I don't even know what questions to ask to figure out what to do with this information." Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. Bruce raised an eyebrow in understanding. "I mean you've been in the news. Is it possible that he doesn't know the Black Widow is one of the Avengers?"

"SHIELD is constantly doing damage control, keeping my face out of the news. Clint's too, and they're good, but they're not that good." Natasha replied nonchalantly.

"Is he still evil?"

"I don't know."

"Does Amelia know that her boyfriend is the son of your ex-archenemy?"

"Amelia doesn't know we know she has a boyfriend."

"Oh good, let's add convoluted logic to an already twisted scenario," Bruce groaned. "Why don't you just go talk to him?"

"What," Pepper sputtered dumbly. "You want her to just walk up to the door of her archenemy, a man who almost killed her on more than one occasion."

"Alternately, Petrol could want to meet his son's girlfriend's family, and then be startled at being face-to-face with a person who tried to kill him. That could make for a very awkward meal," Bruce pointed out with a shrug. "You could also do your spy thing, and go figure out if he's still evil. SHIELD is bound to have some information on him. Call in a favor."

Pepper grimaced at the latter of the solutions. "Amelia's not going to like that last one. She's going to be think her privacy has been invaded."

"Let's look at it this way. If he is still participating in villainy, the Avengers probably would have had a run-in with him at some point in the last decade or so. If he really wants to kill you, what's he waiting for? You've both been living in the same city for decades, and your kids apparently attend the same school."

"Patrick doesn't go to Lincoln," Natasha countered.

"Still, no one sits on a mark for 20 years. That's just ridiculous," Bruce continued. Pepper sighed and nodded. Natasha grumbled, knowing she was no closer to a possible solution than she had been in the last few days. The conversation was interrupted with an urgent demand from Fury calling the Avengers to assemble.

The mission itself was fairly simple: a crazed mutant locked himself in a highly explosive facility with radioactive materials and hostages. It was a basic in-and-out, but the potential risk if all didn't go as planned made it a job for the Avengers. For such an easy call, the team dynamic was severely skewed. Stark was completely sleep-deprived as a result of days in the lab working on a new invention. Bruce was on standby, but had no immediate course of action unless everything went to hell in a hand basket. Thor ended up setting a car on fire with a miscalculated lightening strike; the mistake, of course, altered his mood and torrential thunderstorms rolled ominously into all surrounding areas. Barton spent the majority of the day prior to the call on base training new recruits, so his frustration level was tapped out before the mission even started; he snapped at everyone, causing Rogers to bicker back incessantly. Natasha gave up trying to corral the boys and just shot the mark against orders. Fury's loud and aggravated voice pulsed through the QuinJet's PA system as the team flew back to Manhattan.

After a final "get your shit together," the Director cut off, leaving the jet in complete silence, except for the occasional boom of thunder.

It was days later and rain stilled drizzled gloomily. "Oh for the love of God, make the rain stop, Thor. So you blew up a car? Big deal. I blow up cars all the time. Expensive damn cars too, not so random piece of crap. I can't stand the rain anymore."

"I do not miss. It is unacceptable. I have not missed an appropriate target since I was in my youth."

"I don't care! Everything is wet and cold, and it's awful. Be happy again, and make the rain stop!" Thor narrowed his eyes to a glare before stomping from the communal kitchen, leaving Tony glowering at the counter.

Upstairs, Philip's stance matched Tony's. "I don't want her to be here when you're all being pissy." He grumbled and paced the length of the kitchen in the agents' suite. "It's already going to be miserable; we don't need to add mercurial moods to the list of variables too. I'm canceling."

"She's coming over tonight. You can't cancel," Amelia shrugged. "She'll think you're trying to hide something. Then again, you are…"

"They're all here! All of them! Every single one of them and their bat-crap-craziness and their shitty moods. Oh god. Oh god," he muttered. Finally, at a loss for what to say, the red-headed teenager shrugged apologetically as her brother paced frantically.

Barton's voice carried down the hall. "Damnit, Tasha. Where the hell are you? Thor somehow brought the rain into the Tower and so this stupid piece of paper that is supposed to have instructions is sopping wet. I don't know what the shit I'm supposed to be doing. Natasha, goddamnit, pick up your phone. There is no time for your shit today. Everyone has lost their goddamn minds and our children have entered the realm of pissed-off, irritated teenagers. You need to fix it, so wherever you are gallivanting around, stop it."

Amelia looked at Philip with a grimace. "Yeah, this isn't going to end well."

"Ha. Ya think? If you don't have anything helpful, get out." She acquiesced because she was fed up with everyone's moods. "It's such a sad day when I willingly choose to do homework to avoid talking to anyone," she muttered to herself, grabbing her backpack and relocating to one of the vacant labs.

Across town, Natasha sat in her car, staring at a sleek, white house. It looked out of place for New York, but she lived in the Avengers Tower, so she had no standing to comment on the absurdity of the Petrol house. The boy had already left, so her plan was a go. She just sat there though, trying to decide if this was really how she was choosing to handle the latest shit storm caused by her daughter dating her archenemy's son. "Hopefully, ex-archenemy," she groaned as she finally opened the car door.

It was a comical scene what with Crimson Dynamo (or Yuri or George) opening the front door and having his coffee mug shatter to the ground between them. Natasha laughed, something entirely out-of-character, but really, now she understood why Bruce couldn't help it. "That was pretty much my reaction as well," she responded good-naturedly.

"Are you out of the game?" Her blunt question didn't surprise him. They were both Russian, after all.

"After I escaped from Siberia, I defected. I'm a computer scientist now. Nothing evil, and especially nothing Russian," he assured her. His response was satisfactory. She was trained to catch lies, and although he had been taught to lie, her skill topped his.

"Okay, how do I put this politely," she wondered.

"I tried to blow you up and you had me locked in a Siberian work camp, Natasha. I believe we are far past polite. I assume you aren't here to kill me, or I would already be dead. If you are, well, then your style has changed a lot over the years. Red Room would be disappointed."

"I'm not here to kill you. I'm out of the mercenary game myself. Okay, here it is." She sighed. "My daughter is dating your son." He stared at her blankly, his mouth opening and closing lamely. "Sounds about right. That's what I said."

"Okay," his Russian accent grew heavier. "Would you like to come in?" He asked the question as if even the polite act confused him.

"I have to be heading home shortly. Thank you though. Your son seems to be your priority now," Natasha mentioned, taking note of the boy's photos and achievements scattered throughout the entryway that she could see from the front door.

"Yes. As I'm sure is the case with your daughter. These were dreams we weren't allowed to consider."

"That's why I came. I needed to make sure we weren't going to have an issue with our children and their budding relationship."

"My son doesn't know who I once was. I would like to keep it that way," Yuri said solemnly. "Because I know your training requires you hear it, you have my word that our past rivalry will not negatively affect your daughter or your family."

"And my word to you that your son will be welcome in our home." They shook hands professionally. Natasha offered him a rare smile and a polite nod. "Oh," she said before she crossed the street to her car. "They don't know we know. Better let them tell us when they feel it's appropriate."

"Of course." The door closed and Natasha sighed, digging in her purse for her phone. Her phone screen flashed spastically. "Seriously, I can't leave for an hour without some international crisis," she grumbled to herself.

"What, Barton? Just what is so damn important that you had to call me fifteen times in twenty minutes?"

"Where are you," he shouted over her voice. "What am I supposed to do about the food? Philip is freaking out. Thor brought the rain inside. Pepper can't handle all the crazy on her own. I think I lost Amelia somewhere. Tony is blowing things up, and I think Bruce just Hulked. You need to get your shit together and get the fuck back here because everything is … I don't even know what it is."

"Barton!" She tried to interrupt as she drove through the streets. "Damnit, Barton, shut up! Clint!"

"Fix it," he finished pathetically.

"Holy hell. Okay. Ask JARVIS where Amelia is. If she's in the building, leave it alone; I'll get her when I get there. Tell Philip to breathe and I will get everyone else under control when I get there in twenty minutes. You, you need to make dinner. Okay? Clint, just make dinner."

"What food do I serve my son's girlfriend? We did say she had to be clothed this time right?"

"Heaven help me… you will not mention that tonight, got it? No subtle jokes, no out-right comments, nothing. Just make dinner."

"But what do I make for dinner, Tasha? You're not helping."

"I'm not helping," she asked, her voice raising a few decibels. She added in a few expletives for the traffic around her. "Awful ass drivers," she muttered. "Clint, handle dinner. Anything you want. Go with that signature chicken almond dish and some vegetables. It's just going to be the five of us because today, I'm doubting the team can get their shit together to sit at a dining room table together without major dilemmas."

"You'll take care of the rest of the shit- Hulk and the lightening and the blowing shit up and the bitchiness and the children?"

"Don't I always," she sighed. "Just get started on dinner, okay? Get Philip to help. It'll give him something to do to get his mind off of Leila."

Weaving through traffic like she was a yellow cab, she made it to the Tower in record time. When she pulled into the garage, she groaned, resigned herself to her fate, and jumped out of the car, already talking to the system. "JARVIS, where is Amelia?"

"In Lab C," the AI responded promptly.

"Is Hulk somewhere in the Tower?"

"He's in the basement lab."

"And Tony?"

"Also, in the basement lab."

"Well, damnit," she cursed. "Okay, lock it down until I can get down there, and get Thor to meet me in the lab downstairs. Tell everyone else the basement is off limits until further notice."

She didn't waste any time taking the elevator down to the lab, where Hulk was growling and threatening to smash Tony, who had donned the suit as a form of protection or irritation, she couldn't be sure. This scene was way too common for her to feel any anxiety about walking into the lab unarmed. Hell, both of them were terrified of her with or without weaponry, and rightfully so.

"Boys," she shouted. "Get your shit together. Now. Do you hear me? I do not have time for this today. Hulk, we talked about this, remember? We cannot kill Tony. Trust me. Trust me," she emphasized. "There are days I would love to string him up and turn him into a piñata. Sadly, we cannot maim our teammates."

"Ha!" Tony exclaimed victoriously, causing Hulk to turn and growl viciously.

"Damnit, Tony. Shut up. Clearly you've done more than enough. What did you do this time? Explode the damn table Bruce was working on? This is your own stupid fault, and if I didn't have my son's girlfriend coming over in the next forty minutes, I would let Hulk chase you around like a damn cat with a ball of yarn. That being said, Leila will be here soon, and you can't be a green giant and you can't be… as irritating as you normally are." Tony looked perturbed at being called out. Hulk looked somewhat shamefaced. "JARVIS is going to play some nice, relaxing music and let you mellow out. Tony, you will not speak to him; you will not even make a sound until he morphs back to Banner, got it? Don't make me come back down here to deal with you. JARVIS will alert me of any and all abnormal activity because I cannot have the two of you tearing down the Tower while my son's girlfriend is here. This is apparently very important to him, and neither of you will screw it up."

"Lady Natasha, you requested my presence? Oh hello, Hulk!" Thor greeted joyously.

"Yes, okay, listen up because this rain… I've had enough. You can't make it rain indoors. I don't care what song Tony taught you that told you it was okay; it's not. You better hope all my clothing is dry and protected from your freak indoor thunderstorm, or so help me, you won't even be safe in Asgard. Now, you will stay in here and make sure Tony does nothing to further annoy Hulk. If you have to lock him in the trunk of one of his damn cars, that is fine by me. Just make sure that this absurdity stays away from my floor. Then, all three of you will fix the lab and make sure it is in one piece. Pepper does not need another thing to deal with on Monday morning."

Outside it thundered ominously as Thor pouted, feeling like he was being punished. Natasha breathed, let out a calculated breath, and checked her watch. "I know you're upset about missing your target. I understand that it's upsetting. Everyone has off days, Thor. Our entire team was off today… is still off," she amended.

"Off days," he asked, confused again with the language.

"Days during which we don't do as well as we should or can't seem to get everything together," she defined. "That's okay. Maybe it would make you feel better if you had some extra practice. I know Tony has about 50 acres of land in the middle of nowhere in Idaho or something. When the three of you fix the lab and Hulk is Banner again, the three of you can figure out how to make lightening proof targets to put in a big open field or something where no one gets hurt. Okay?" She resisted the urge to check her watch again.

"Okay," Thor responded cheerily. Somewhere behind him, Tony groaned, but Natasha was already halfway out the door, relaying directions to JARVIS about situations that warranted notifying her during dinner.

Needless to say, given the idea, Tony ended up in the trunk of one of his sports cars, sputtering cusswords and complaints. Thor smirked happily, and Hulk calmed his heart rate enough to morph back to his human alter ego.

Dinner was different, but nothing too crazy happened. When Leila left, Philip slumped against the closed front door with a sigh. He stumbled into kitchen to find his sister and parents doing the dishes. The afternoon as a whole with all of its worrying and pacing had taken its toll and he was exhausted. "Thanks for seeming at least somewhat normal." With a shuffle, he retreated down the hall to his room. Amelia shortly followed to her own room, leaving Natasha and Clint in the kitchen.

"Today was a shit show," he laughed softly as he dried one of the plates.

"You lost it today," she countered, soaping up a glass in the sink. "Seriously, Clint? Fifteen calls- were they all really necessary?"

"It was raining inside. It shouldn't rain inside ever. That's just strange. Everything after that was just added chaos. You've always wrangled chaos better than me. Where were you anyway?"

"You handle it just fine," she complimented. "I went to see Yuri Petrovitch."

The plate clattered to the counter. "Care to expand on that last part there, Tasha?"

"He defected, eliminated the brainwashing, it seems, and lives as a computer designer or something. He said his son doesn't know about his past, and he wants to keep it that way. He said he wasn't in anything evil- his words, not mine."

"You just walked up to your archenemy's door and said what exactly? 'Hey, remember me.'"

"He dropped his coffee mug."

"Of course, he did because no one wants to open the door to find the Black Widow standing on the other side, especially since you know he tried to kill you."

"In that circumstance, I don't knock. You know that."

Clint scoffed. "Yes, clearly that's the important portion of this entire conversation. So do we believe him?"

"His kid is his life. He wasn't lying when he said he wasn't in the life anymore. He gave me his word that he would be safe, and I gave him mine that Patrick would be safe. Sadly, for you, that means you can't shoot his son with an arrow."

"Damnit, Tasha," he groaned. "I was really looking forward to that. I got a new arrow tip and everything to practice!"

"Oh," she mocked. "Too bad."

"Evil woman," he muttered petulantly as he finished drying the last dish. "You take all the fun out of having a teenage daughter. Eventually you'll let me maim one of her dates, right?" Natasha sighed and turned away from him, walking into their bedroom. Clint ran after her calling, "Eventually! It doesn't have to be this one."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: And this is the end, my fine feathered friends. Thank you all for sticking with me through this story. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. If you have any ideas for future stories, drop me a line; I would love to hear from you. As always, **please review and tell me what you think about the story and its ending!**

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Somehow, through some sick twist of humor, Fury found himself acting as a chaperone at the Lincoln Prep Prom. Amidst the lights, decorations, and music, he seemed remarkably out of place. It didn't help he was wearing his usual uniform, though the eye patch helped intimidate some of the students from sneaking off. Arms crossed over his chest, the Director leaned against one of the walls of a hotel ballroom that had been rented and transformed into a Winter Wonderland, this prom's theme. Across the room, Pepper took a picture of the humorous scene with her phone.

"Not funny, Ms. Potts. I'll confiscate your phone as part of some top-secret nefarious plan."

"Oh, come on, Nick," she laughed as she leaned against the wall next to him. "You didn't have to chaperone. You chose this because you care about those kids."

"I didn't have to do this," Fury repeats. "Oh yeah because saying no to the Black Widow about something that directly involves her children is a walk in the fucking park. No, I prefer the torture of a high school dance over whatever form of punishment she could concoct."

"If I remember correctly, the nametag on your desk does say 'Director,' does it not? Also, you've said no to her plenty of times before."

"I really should have known when Barton brought her in that it would be hell on Earth. Of course, the man who makes his own rules would find someone with a distinct disregard for protocol as well. I would also like to point out that the word 'no' isn't something Romanov likes hearing very much. It was either take her spot as the dance chaperone or she wouldn't go on the mission, and quite honestly, in the field, she's the only one who can corral that chaotic mess of people you call a family."

Pepper nodded knowingly. "You're included in that chaotic mess too, you know." A small grin may have played at the corners of his lips in a very uncharacteristic response.

"Role-wise, I'm just supposed to keep an eye on the general room and make sure nothing blows up, correct?"

"You've been working with Tony for far too long. Things don't usually blow up at school dances, especially not in the sense you're thinking of. Usually 'blow up' refers to drama."

"Is that somehow relevant knowledge to running an secret intelligence agency?"

"Yes, everything is relevant. Who knows your next wave of intergalactic super villains could be mutant teenage girls?"

"No," Fury stated bluntly. "No, I refuse to believe that is even in the realm of possibilities."

The tall, blonde woman laughed good-naturedly, and Fury found himself realizing that this might not be the worst situation. He stood a little taller, knowing Coulson would be proud of him.

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"So what is this that we're covered in," Steve asked, looking down at his suit. Spreading his hand, the green goop dripped down his forearm in large blobs.

"Good news and bad news," Bruce stated. "Good news: it's just alien innards. Bad news: it could be toxic."

"That's your idea of good news?" Tony looked disconcerted at the thought. "It's on my suit!"

"Damnit, Tony. It's on my skin," the archer countered.

"It's not my fault you wear a damn vest, and do you know how expensive this suit is? It's more than money. It was built from my sweat, blood, and tears," Tony rambled on dramatically. His arms gestured as he spoke, flinging goo across the jet.

"I'll show you sweat, blood, and tears, if you don't shut up." Barton growled, trying pointlessly to wipe the substance from his face.

"Really? That's your comeback. That's the best you've got? You're getting soft in your old age, Robin Hood."

"When will you know if it's toxic or not," Natasha questioned, completely ignoring the immature antics of the men.

"I'll run some tests when we get back to the Tower until then, all of you will need to be in lockdown. Hopefully, there are no side effects."

"Ha… Side effects… No, no, don't hug Daddy. He's toxic," Tony griped. "At least Fury is chaperoning a school dance right now," he remembered. "There is definite comedic value in that. I hope Pepper took a picture. I wonder how many students will ask what's behind his eye patch. Maybe he'll recruit some insubordinate students to S.H.I.E.L.D as punishment for being too handsy with their dates or something. Oh then Legolas could train them! Oh that would be funny too."

"Shut up, Stark," Rogers demanded.

"Why aren't you flying back to HQ?"

"Because whatever the hell this goop is offsets the dynamics of my flight pattern. I could fly into a building and crash or something."

"Oh please. Please fly home. I want to see you fly into a billboard," Barton begged in a mocking tone.

"I bet I could throw a rock at the school's dance and find two teenagers with higher maturity levels than the two of you," Natasha muttered to herself. Bruce heard her comment and cracked a smile. She tried to shift in her seat, her suit clinging to her skin uncomfortably as the goo started to harden. "I think that lockdown is going to be more difficult than usual." Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow. "It feels like it's hardening into a cast, of sorts. We'll be stuck to whatever we're touching when the substance dries completely."

"Well that could complicate things."

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As fate would have it, the Avengers landed as Fury unloaded Philip, Amelia, and their respective dates from the car.

"Umm, 'Melia, are your parents Avengers?" Patrick asked, a little confused at the four adults awkwardly standing in the lobby.

"Yeah," she drawled slowly. "Avenger Towers," she waved her hands to gesture to the building itself.

"Oh… cool."

"You realized you're covered in green shit, right," Philip questioned as he walked towards the elevator.

"Really, son? That's your question?"

"Valid question," Fury added.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Barton, nice to see you again," Leila greeted, trying to figure out if she should just wave or attempt a handshake.

"You probably don't want to touch them," Amelia told her.

"What is that stuff," Patrick wondered, his head tilting to the side as he stared at the Black Widow seemingly trapped in a slimy green casing.

"You probably don't want to know," Philip answered. "It's always safest not to ask questions. You just nod and smile and, when relevant, give appropriate sounds of understanding."

"Couldn't you just do that in my debriefings, Barton? Instead of making paper airplanes to launch at my head? Your son is smart- clearly, he's Natasha's child."

"Paper airplanes are a valid use of your department-wide memos," Barton countered. "Otherwise, it's just a waste of paper."

"You better be damn grateful I don't have another archer on retainer." The elevator dinged its arrival, and the four teenagers clamored on, Fury following them in.

"Is it strange to anyone else that not a single one of them asked if we were okay? Seriously, we don't get covered in intergalactic goop that often. Someone should be wondering if it's a biohazard or something, but no," Tony grumbled. "No, it's okay; lets mock the Avengers. It's not like we save the world on a daily basis or anything. Seriously, if this shit didn't restrict my movement, oh, I would pop him a new one on his shiny, baldhead. Oh," he exclaimed. "We should draw a treasure map on the back of his head one day."

"It does fit with the whole pirate theme we've had going on," Barton agreed. "I should remember to ask him about his peg leg."

"He does keep it very well maintained. Maybe he uses wood polish?"

"That's the perfect Christmas gift! Look, Tasha, I crossed someone off our list already!"

For years, her husband had been trying to slip prank gifts in with all the real ones. "One day, he's going to kill you, Barton. One day," she laughed, already knowing she would have to double check Fury's gift for Pledge. On the other hand, she thought, it would be great to watch him try and explain himself.

Decades ago had someone told her she would be giving gifts to the director of a secret intelligence agency and expecting him to show up for Christmas dinner she would have scoffed and asked what mission required gift giving and holiday cheer.

When she looked back, she couldn't truly pinpoint how she made it to that point when her ledger didn't drip blood or when the job became less important than the life she came home to. There was no clear connect-the-dots explanation of how the small, Russian orphan-turned-deadly-assassin morphed into a mother, a wife, and a friend. It was a crazy life, utterly beautiful in its unique chaos. Normal never described her; it never quite seemed to fit.

After all, she was a spider who fell in love with a hawk.

The rest, as they say, was history.


End file.
